


Intro to Charming the Pants Off Your Hogwarts Professor

by gsmaxwell



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Hogwarts, Alternate Universe - Teachers, Comedy of Errors, Derek Hale is Bad at Feelings, F/F, F/M, Love Triangles, M/M, Minor Character Death, Misunderstandings, Murder Mystery, Peter Hale is a Creepster, Socially Awkward BAMFs, Stiles Is Kind Of Slutty, Stiles Stilinski Is Bad At Feelings, Wolf Derek
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-09-02
Updated: 2016-05-10
Packaged: 2018-02-15 20:28:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 22
Words: 101,901
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2242479
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gsmaxwell/pseuds/gsmaxwell
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles's job at the Ministry had been more boring than he had anticipated (Muggle Liaison Officer had sounded cool on the pamphlet but in reality was a lot of Floo calls from panicky wizards who had jammed their wands in electrical sockets and slightly toasty Muggles listening shell shocked as they held their previously non-combustible children). The teaching gig was a good job in the interim while he waited for something more interesting to come up. </p><p>Plus, there were certain perks to being a professor: private baths, an entire office that had been shielded from magic so he could have CoD tournaments with his OWL students, and, most importantly, soundproof bedrooms.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. An Interesting Proposal

**Author's Note:**

> So... this happened? I'm playing hard and loose with the rules of both worlds so I apologise in advance if something makes you go "But Dumbledore CLEARLY said you can't apperate inside Hogwarts!" (Okay, I don't bend them quite so bad). Hopefully you can still enjoy this?
> 
> No so porny yet but 1000% porny later.

In his seven years at Hogwarts, Stiles had thought he had found every bit of enjoyment that could be had in those walls. Graduating had been sad but he had left with a sense of finality and a job well done. It had been time to move on. When the Headmaster asked him specifically to come back five years later he had almost turned it down. After all, what more was there to do? But his job had been more boring than he had anticipated (Muggle Liaison Officer had sounded cool on the pamphlet but in reality was a lot of Floo calls from panicky wizards who had jammed their wands in electrical sockets and slightly toasty Muggles listening shell shocked as they held their previously non-combustible children). The teaching gig was a good job in the interim while he waited for something more interesting to come up.

 

Plus, there were certain perks to being a professor: private baths, an entire office that had been shielded from magic so he could have CoD tournaments with his OWL students, and, most importantly, soundproof bedrooms.

 

“You know you yell really loud when you orgasm.”

 

Stiles sighed, still basking and unable to think of something witty. “Most people do.”

 

“That kind of thing would get you caught in the wild.”

 

His bed mate was straightforward; Stiles could appreciate that sort of thing. However, this wasn’t normally the time he spent dissecting his sexual technique. He usually left that for Lydia when she sent him a Thanks-For-The-Sex owl the day after.

 

“Fortunately, this isn’t the Forbidden Forest.”

 

Professor Malia Tate stared at him expressionless for a moment before laughing so suddenly it nearly sent Stiles off the bed. “Sorry,” her apology didn’t carry any sincerity. “I was just thinking about you. In the Forbidden Forest.” An amused grin spread over her face. “You’d get eaten alive.”

 

“Hey,” Stiles protested. “I’ll have you know I had a very adventurous sixth year in that forest.”

 

“I heard about that,” she nodded. “My friends said you got chased up a tree and spent the night there until Scott McCall had to come out on a broomstick and rescue you. They said you smelled terrified.”

 

“How the hell would you friends know— never mind,” Stiles frowned, no longer in the mood for bantering. Malia’s friends were less human and more four-legged. They probably did things like gossip about how delectable people’s thighs were and other things that made Stiles shudder in disgust. “Shouldn’t you be going?”

 

“You’re right,” Malia stood, letting the sheets fall away. She walked across the floor to her robes, unashamed at her nudity. “The first years have a dawn class. This was fun. Thank you.” The last part came out politely, like they were expressions she had watched on TV and thought sounded nice. Stiles knew better. Malia had never watched TV in her life. More likely Lydia had been trying and succeeding with teaching her better manners.

 

“Thanks, I try.”

 

That was usually how these nights ended. The best thing about having a no-strings attached arrangement with the resident Care of Magical Creatures professor was her adventurism in bed and her clinical detachment from emotional hang ups. He knew those were side effects from the eight years Professor Tate had spent trapped as a coyote Animagus but they worked in his favour for the most part. However, before she left, she stopped suddenly and turned, hesitant.

 

Stiles had been halfway out of bed, wanting to clean up before passing out, and froze at the uncertain expression on her face.  Malia was blunt to a fault; if she was wondering how to phrase something it must be something either good or downright terrifying.

 

“Stiles,” she paused then looked determined. “How do you tell someone you like them?”

 

Stiles wondered for a moment if she was talking about _him_ but Malia had never been coy about their relationship. He tried to imagine that. Malia. Playing coy. _Ha_. They had hooked up the first time after the Sorting Ceremony. She had walked up to him while he was welcoming the new First Year Slytherins to the house and told him his loins looked fertile and would he like to get naked in her rooms later.

 

No, this was definitely about someone else. She was starting to look fidgety as she waited for an answer. “Was that inappropriate? I thought since we have sex all the time I could ask you sex questions.”

 

“That’s, uh, a pretty solid conclusion, actually,” Stiles said, feeling a little proud at her restraint. “Who are we talking about?”

 

“Just, someone,” she said quickly, evading the question which just perked Stiles’s curiosity even more. “I’ve been trying some things but I don’t think they’re working.”

 

Stiles tried to run through the list of people Malia could be talking about. There were a few professors in their age range. His best friend, Scott, was around for example. He mostly worked in Hogsmeade at the Magical Creature shop selling and caring for other witches and wizard’s pets and familiars. Allison, his girlfriend since they had graduated, was around to help with flying lessons when she wasn’t off training as a Beater on the National Quidditch team. Both were committed to each other so he didn’t think Malia was talking about them.

 

There was Lydia, the Potions professor who had been in the same year as Scott and him. She had been in Ravenclaw though he often though she could just as well have been in his own house. However, Stiles knew Lydia was strictly into men and specifically into her on-again off-again fiancé Jackson, the ass-faced Auror who had been in his year and sometimes came by on weekends. Isaac had been in Scott’s house and still worked as an assistant to the Defense Against the Dark Arts teachers. He tried to imagine Malia and Isaac together but dismissed that as well. Isaac was as opportunistic as Stiles was. Malia’s awkward advances would have won him over instantly. Aiden, who did the younger Transfiguration classes, was the same.

 

Every other teacher was much older or married. He knew perfectly well Malia wouldn’t try to break up an established family pack. He felt his heart sag when he reached the end of his list. Derek Hale, one half of the full time teachers for the Defense Against the Dark Arts practicum and theory classes. He taught the theory, his partner Braedon What-The-Hell-Do-You-Need-My-Last-Name-For-Idiot did the hands on. There were rumours about the two but nothing concrete though Stiles was pretty sure two people that attractive didn’t just nod at each other in the hall when they could be doing so much more.

 

Besides that, he remembered when he had first transferred to the school at the beginning of last year. Professor Hale had also been new and the Headmaster had made sure the two were seated next to each other at the welcome party in Hogsmeade. Derek had been deliciously attractive and Stiles had been accepting shot after shot of Firewhiskey from his co-workers all night. He had felt brave enough to scooch closer along the bench, leaning his arm around the back of Hale’s section. The man hadn’t met his eye but Stiles could see a furious blush on his face. He knew that look; it was the one before people either panicked and made an excuse to leave or dragged him under the table to make out. Years of hanging out with Scott had made him Gryffindor brave under the right lubrication and Stiles was positive it was the latter of the two.

 

However, before either could happen, Professor Braedon had stomped over and demanded Derek return to the castle with her. She had been terrifying, the silvery scars on her neck and collar bone shining in the candlelight. Derek had mumbled an excuse and followed her out without a backwards glance. Even Stiles wasn’t drunk enough to not get that message. Still, it wasn’t like the two had declared intent. If Malia wanted to go after Derek maybe it would be the push those two needed to formally come out to the students and end the Future Spouses of Derek Hale Club.

 

“Wait. What exactly have you done?” Stiles asked. Malia relaxed and moved back to sit on the end of the bed. She didn’t seem to care when Stiles adjusted the blankets to cover himself better. She may not have problems walking around in nothing but skin but Stiles liked to keep some mystery about him.

 

He knew Malia was embarrassed because she kept fidgeting. He was pretty proud. Normally she was halfway to the owlery when they came upon an uncomfortable topic. She must really like Derek.

 

“Oh, you know,” her eyes darted around the room. “Normal things.”

 

“Like?” Stiles prompted.

 

“Just some… howling. Outside their room. Once or a dozen times or so.” Stiles’s eyebrows shot up. Malia started to shred his blankets with her claws. “Maybe a gift or two.”

 

“…Malia.”

 

“Of rabbit hearts.”

 

“Oh my God.” Stiles pinched the bridge of his nose.

 

“I wrote some letters!” she said defiantly. She reaching into her robes and produced a badly splotched, unsigned parchment. Words had been crossed out and rewritten so many times it was hard to make out what she was writing but Stiles could see the opening line _I was watching you in your sleep last night you were very beautiful_.

 

He threw the parchment into his fireplace in horror and grabbed his wand to give the flame an extra burst as it burned. Malia didn’t fight, just looked at him mournfully.

 

“What the hell?” he sputtered.

 

“It was all wrong, wasn’t it?” she sighed.

 

“Why didn’t you just tell them you want to have sex?” Stiles gaped at her. He felt betrayed. She had put in no effort to get him in bed. “It worked on me!”

 

“I didn’t care about you,” she rolled her eyes. He frowned and yanked the remainder of his bedspread from her grip. “I mean, I didn’t care if you had said no.”

 

Stiles felt a headache no potion could cure. “You can’t make him say yes. Trust me. You just have to put yourself out there and let him make his own decision.”

 

“Him?” Malia wrinkled her nose in confusion. “It’s not a him.”

 

“Oh, God, don’t say you mean _Braedon_? At least Derek shows some humanity with the First Years. The two of you together would triple the number of Howlers at the staff meetings.”

 

“Not Braedon,” Malia looked frustrated. “Kira.”

 

Stiles had an uncomfortable moment as he tried to remember if any of the students went by Kira but let out a sigh of relief. Kira Yukimura was the daughter of the History Professor and well over eighteen. He had seen glimpses of her as she brought books too valuable to be delivered by owl or magic. She spent some nights in the castle, close to her father’s room to help with his research but he knew she spent most of the time in London working at the Magical Library with her mother. She was cute if not shy and from his few interactions with her she had seemed sweet. He glanced at Malia, studying her for a moment as he tried to picture the two of them together.

 

Yeah, that might just work.

 

He looked at the fire, remembering the note and frowned. “Wait—At the last staff meeting, when Headmaster Deaton told us there was a possible stalker in the castle—that was _you_?”

 

Malia looked miserable.

 

“You have to confess,” he said firmly.

 

“No!” Malia shot up, her face pleading. “I may have screwed up a little but I don’t want to ruin my chances.”

 

“Screwed up, that’s a bit light, don’t you think?”

 

“Stiles, please don’t make me tell.”

 

“Malia,” Stile tried a gentler approach. “She’s nice, she’ll probably understand.”

 

“I know what people say about me,” Malia said, her voice low and fierce. “I know I’m a little strange. You and Lydia are the only people who talk with me.” Stiles wanted to protest but it was pretty true. He wisely decided to not mention that most of their time wasn’t spent talking. “If I tell her it was me she’ll never see me as anything other than a freak. I’ll tell her, I promise, but first I want her to like me.”

 

Stiles was ready to argue, he didn’t have the time or energy to get involved with this but Malia looked at him a pathetically defeated look on her face. His resolve wavered. He tried to list the reasons why this was a bad idea but they seemed petty next to the slowly dying hope in her eyes. He thought—would it really be that bad? It wasn’t like his workload was _that_ heavy. Scott was so busy with Allison most days Stiles’s free time was spent with Malia anyway. Besides, if he solved the whole stalker problem maybe Deaton would finally give him permission to project _Dark Night_ on the ceiling of the Great Hall.

 

Malia seemed to sense the moment he gave in because she smiled brightly. Stiles couldn’t help but match it. For all Malia didn’t get social cues when she did show her emotions they were genuine. He resolved fiercely that if Kira couldn’t appreciate that then she didn’t deserve Malia and he would make sure she knew it.

 

“Fine.” Malia grabbed him, her claws still Transfigured so he winced as they scratched.

 

“Thank you, thank you, thank you,” she started to pepper his neck with open mouth kisses and as much as that reawakened certain awkward body parts he gently pushed her away.

 

“Piece of advice, no more sex unless that sex is with Kira,” he said firmly. Malia nodded like it made perfect sense.

 

“That shouldn’t be a problem. I’ve only been sleeping with you so stopping is easy.”

 

“Hey,” Stiles frowned, offended. It was hard to be angry though as she continued to grin at him like he had solved her all problems. “This isn’t going to be easy and it’s not guaranteed to work, you know. You can’t make people fall in love with you, don’t believe what Witches Weekly tries to tell you.”

 

“What should I do first?”

 

“First, you should never write another love letter again. Second, don’t give her dismembered animal hearts. Only Lydia likes that kind of thing. And third, no more watching her while she sleeps or hanging outside of her window. That’s creepy.”

 

“You think that’s creepy?” Malia tilted her head. “But I’ve seen—“

 

“Trust me, it is not,” Stiles cut her off. “No sane human does that kind of thing unless they have some kind of severe behavior disorder.” She looked like she was going to protest again so he said quickly. “You have to find out what she does like and then try to work that interest into some kind of a date.”

 

“Books,” Malia said proudly. “And swords.”

 

“Good,” Stiles decided that kind of thing deserved positive reinforcement.

 

“I saw them on her walls when I broke in to give her the letter.”

 

He smacked his palm on his forehead. He had known this would be hard but he hadn’t realized it would be impossible. “Fourth—no breaking and entering.” When he looked he saw the crushed look on her face and bit back a frustrated groan. “Just talk to her, alright? She’s around this week helping her father. After your dawn class why don’t you sit next to her at breakfast? Strike up some conversation. Don’t—“ he cut off her eager look, “—mention the hearts. Talk about the students. She likes hearing about the kids.”

 

“Talk about students,” Malia looked like she was committing his words to memory. “Don’t talk about rabbit hearts.”

 

“Ask her what kind of books does she like, does she like romance novels, murder mysteries? Try to lead that into some kind of date,” Stiles continued. “But you know, _normal_ things.”

 

Her face dropped. “I’m going to suck at this.”

 

“Maybe,” Stiles agreed unhelpfully.

 

Stiles shooed her out not much later. He was tired and though she seemed to survive on little sleep he needed his full eight hours, especially with a full schedule tomorrow. He paused at his window. It was a clear night, cool in that time of year that wasn’t quite summer but still felt like sunshine. The moon wasn’t quite full but it looked big and reflected on the lake making the night seem a little brighter than normal. He was sad to lose his nights with Malia but at the same time it wasn’t a relationship he had seen lasting. He was grateful it hadn’t ended in disaster like others he had when he worked for the Ministry or in school. Lydia was his only other one that had worked out in with them still being friends in the end.

 

It hadn’t been easy growing up in Slytherin, being Muggle-born. Most of the prejudices were gone on the surface but there was a lot of ignorance under that. He had used his wits and cunning to scrape by and by the time had graduated enough of his housemates had enjoyed exercising their teenage rebellion with him. They were relationships that worked both ways. No one bullied him when they knew he would just move on to another benefactor and they got to write threatening letters home about running away with a person of lower rank. Plus, the sex had been pretty good. Stiles didn’t regret what he had done to stay ahead of the game but when he saw the way Allison and Scott were with each other he could help but feel a bit short changed.

 

He and Scott had been raised together, both of them not knowing that they had magic until the letters arrived. He knew Gryffindor had been good to Scott and he was glad but where Scott’s mother’s packages were greeted with warmth and curiosity, Stiles often hid the gummy bears and still photos under his mattress where his housemates couldn’t find them. It had been hard pretending that part of himself wasn’t important for all those years and he had been determined to make a change in the Wizarding World. Ignorance could be treated and he was sick and tired of the Muggle Studies textbooks that only showed dated televisions and phones from the fifties and spoke of Muggle ingenuity like proud parents watching their child tie their shoes for the first time.

 

He knew why Deaton had asked him here. Already, his third years were devouring Disney and Ghibli films with enthusiasm, charmed not just by the pictures but by the technology. Just the other week Harold Brown had disassembled an old computer and replaced an aging hard drive in preparation for entering a transfer program at MIT. Hell, he had even found himself holding after class Skype tutorials for seventh years who wanted more contact with their graduated girlfriends and boyfriends. He was necessary here and that was a nice feeling but—

 

He could help but feel like there was something he was supposed to be looking for out there.

 

In the distance he heard a yearning call and sighed. He had _told_ Malia no howling!


	2. Murder Afoot

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay! People like it!
> 
> I've got up to chapter 3 and part way through chapter 4 written, they're just going through rewrites now.

               Stiles was late for breakfast despite his attempt to sleep early. He hadn’t been able to shake the feeling that something was out there, waiting for him, and it had kept him tossing and turning. Fortunately, the best thing about working with mostly adolescents was that no matter how exhausted he felt he at least had twenty three years of experience getting ready in the morning. One glance around the room showed a sea of bedhead and missed buttons on shirts and he instantly felt better about himself.

 

               He wasn’t the only teacher with a late start either. Several seats were empty, including the Headmaster and Hale’s. Stiles ignored the fact that he noticed. Just because Hale was with his teaching partner didn’t mean Stiles couldn’t stop looking. It was unusual for the Headmaster to be late though and the table was abuzz with gossip.

 

              “Problems with the poltergeists on the fourth floor,” the Astronomy teacher tsked. “I told him, if he would just let me exorcism them—“

 

               “Are you serious?” Coach stabbed at the mountain of bacon on his plate. “You think if you lock a couple hundred hormonal teenagers behind impenetrable walls for nine months out of the year they aren’t going to make a few poltergeists? You should be so lucky that’s the only thing gestating.”

 

               “I heard it has something to do with the Hufflepuff’s early lesson,” that was Ethan, Aiden’s twin, always a big fan for gossip. “Tate’s not here either.”

 

               Stiles took a quick glance around to make sure Malia wasn’t just crouched under a tapestry with her plate to avoid the morning chitchat again. She wasn’t and, Stiles noted with a grimace, there was Kira walking in with her father. If Malia was going to have a chance to talk with her this would be the best time to grab her. Kira normally sat on the end of the table next to her father and there was no way to casually sit down with her unless she was called over. Stiles had taken a seat next to Lydia as per usual but the other side of him was empty. Cursing himself for promising to help, he jumped to his feet and waved wildly as Kira moved to take her seat.

 

               “Yo! Yukimura! Over here!”

 

               Kira froze half in her chair and looked at him like a deer in headlights. Her father was also staring at him but the man gathered his wits faster. Kira yelped when he must have kicked her shin and hissed a few words under her breath. It looked like they were arguing and now the Ravenclaw seventh years were turning to watch the antics with the kind of curiosity only the noisiest gossips could have. Stiles heavily regretted his actions but finally, red faced with embarrassment, Kira slowly walked along the front of the table and halted when she reached him.

 

               “Uh, yes?”

 

               “Why don’t you sit with us today?” Stiles said trying to smile charmingly. He could feel Lydia watching him suspiciously but he had no time to explain. He tried to grin but Kira leaned back out of arm’s breadth.

 

               “Um,” she glanced to her father who gestured for her to stay so violently he tipped over a jug of orange juice. “Okay.”

 

               Stiles sat down awkwardly as he tried to ignore the way her father was giving him an enthusiastic thumbs up. He prayed Malia would get here soon. There was no way she could embarrass herself any further than he had already.

 

               Kira perched on the chair next to him like she was ready to bolt at any moment. Usually he was incredibly personable but at those times he had his own motives and gains to guide him. He was utterly unused to being a wingman. Lydia’s judging stare burned into the back of his neck. He could feel their Ravenclaw audience watching with buzzard-like attentiveness.

 

               Food! Food and polite conversation. That was what people did when they interacted with each other. “Here, you must be hungry!” He grabbed a serving plate of eggs, realizing too late they were too heavy to be comfortably picked up. He nearly dropped it but held steady as he offered the giant silver platter to her. She grinned briefly back, panic on her face, as she accepted it.

 

               The table in front of them broke out into overly loud chatter. He glanced at Lydia. She had turned the power of her gaze to them and they were nervously avoiding anything to do with the teacher’s table. He turned to make a comment about her continuing the tradition of Big Bad Potions professor but found her face only a few inches from his own. Her eyes were piercing, watching his social failure like she was trying to dissect the situation with nothing but her mental powers.

 

               “Kira,” Lydia shoved his chest so she could get a better look at where Kira was struggling to both hold the heavy egg platter and serve it on to her plate. “It’s so lovely to finally be able to speak with you. Why don’t you put that here?”

 

               Kira placed the eggs down gratefully and smiled wobbly at Lydia. “Thanks. Uh, thanks for inviting me.”

 

               “I’m sorry for not thinking of it sooner.” Stiles leaned forward to add to the conversation but was cut off with an _oomph_ as Lydia shoved him back again. “I didn’t know you and Stiles were friends.”

 

               “I didn’t either,” Kira said shyly.

 

               This had been one of the worst impulsive moves he had made since he had taken that bet to go out into the Forbidden Forest in sixth year. Lydia was never going to let a puzzle go and he could feel the air around them crackle as she started to sink her teeth into it. Fortunately, before she could continue, the door to the Great Hall opened with a certain eminence.

 

               “Thank God,” Stiles muttered, not quite low enough to Lydia to miss. Headmaster Deaton came in with his usual air of competence and mystery, smiling at the students as he passed through them. There was something tense in his eyes though. Malia was trailing behind him, blank as usual. To Stiles’s surprise, so were Derek and Braedon though they looked more troubled than the other two. Malia’s expression quickly shifted to horror when she saw Stiles’s seatmate.

 

               Deaton was moving to his usual spot in the center of the table so whatever had made them late must not have been so dire they had to call immediate action. Derek and Braedon moved to their usual seats as well without meeting any of the nosy stares. Stiles wondered how he should work this, if he should give up his seat so Malia could sit next to Kira and exile himself to the end next to Professor Yukimura or if he could somehow convince the Herbology teacher nodding off in his tea to move, when Malia grabbed him by the arm and yanked him out of his chair.

 

               “What the hell?” she hissed. “What is she doing here?”

 

               “I thought she might be a bit lonely,” Stiles recovered his feet and pulled himself free. That had hurt and he rubbed at the muscle. He gave her a quick nudge, hoping she would understand what he was trying to do but knowing it would fail miserably. “I mean, she’s here often enough. I thought it would be nice for us to expand our group. You know, with nice, _normal_ people.” Malia furrowed her eyebrows at him. He made an impatient face.

 

               “Oh,” realization dawned on her face. “ _Oh_.”

 

               Stiles patted her arm comfortingly. For some reason he could feel Lydia glaring at him murderously.

 

               “You mean I have to— by myself?” the look of pure terror on her face almost made him feel bad. He was about to say something reassuring and push her down into the empty chair when Lydia interrupted him.

 

               “Of course not, Malia,” her voice was pure ice and Stiles shivered. With deliberation, she plucked a pin from her hair and with a quick wave of her wand made a small, pointy looking stool. “Take Stiles’s chair. He can sit right here. Next to me.”

 

               The stool only brought his head level with Lydia’s shoulder and the seat was every bit as uncomfortable as it looked. He winced as he shifted but every angle was painful. He tried to glance over to judge how Malia was acting but before he could move, Lydia cast a painful, stinging spell in his ear.

 

               “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

 

               It must be some kind of privacy spell because suddenly everything around him except for Lydia sounded muffled.

 

             “Not that it’s any of your business but a certain someone is interested in Yukimura’s daughter,” he hissed, rubbing at his ear.

 

               “I can see that,” Lydia looked unjustifiably furious. “Are you really going to just cast Malia aside for another girl in front of everyone? Stiles, I know you’re usually and ends justifies the means kind of person but I even I didn’t think you would sink that low. It’s disgusting!”

 

               “What the hell are you talking about?” Stiles risked a glance over. Malia was grinning with every part of her face but her eyes and Kira had beads of nervous sweat rolling down her neck. “It’s Malia. Malia likes her. I’m just trying to help!”

 

               “What?” Lydia’s mouth dropped into an O shape as she peeked around Stiles as well. She winced when she saw Malia nervously stab a sausage and devour half of it in one chomp. “Oh, dear. That’s not going well.”

 

               “You think?” Stiles said sarcastically. “Why the hell did you think I was interested in Kira?”

 

               “Excuse you, but you did just tell her we wanted to expand our group to _normal_ people. I thought that was an insult.”

 

               “It wasn’t,” Stiles said grumpily. “I wouldn’t do that.”

 

               “I can see that now,” Lydia rolled her eyes. “Okay, well, let’s try to salvage this meal.”

 

               The noise rose back to normal levels. The stool didn’t get any more uncomfortable. Kira was bravely trying to make conversation.

 

               “Do you like books?”

 

               Malia stared at her unnervingly for a moment before shaking her head. “Hate ‘em. They all smell the same, like old paper and ink. It’s boring.”

 

               “Really?” Kira, Stiles had to give her credit, seemed to take the blunt refusal in stride. “I guess I never thought of it that way. I’m helping my father do some research on how different inks were used to invoke sense actually. There’s a lot of fascinating books in the library about it. Actually, it’s the only place on the continent that has a collection large enough to really conduct a thorough—“

 

               “Sounds boring,” Malia grunted. To an outsider, Stiles knew she seemed rude but it was the little signs, the way she was stabbing her food hard enough to chip the plate and how only her toes touched the ground that showed how nervous she was. Stiles jabbed her hard in the side with his elbow and she turned to give him a furious look. He glared right back, willing her to remember their conversation from the night before. Kira, now flushed with embarrassment, quickly switched topics.

 

               “So, why were you so late this morning?” she asked. Stiles could see Malia about to say something that was probably going to send Kira scuttling under the table this time. He stomped on her foot out of desperation and she looked like she was going to tear his head off before something in his face much have triggered her memory. She froze, her eyes wide as she seemed to realize what she had said the last few sentences, then turned toward Kira with a grin that showed all her teeth, even the molars.

 

                “Oh, just a problem with a class,” Stiles could see her try to casually lean on the table in a gesture copied from him. Unfortunately for her, it worked just about as well and her elbow ended up in a bowl of jam. She continued anyway. “The first years have to study Blooming Sun Worms but while we were waiting for sunrise one of them saw some kind of monster.”

 

               “Oh my God, that’s awful. Are the kids okay? Was it dangerous?”

 

               “I didn’t get a good look,” Malia continued to grin manically. “But all the kids are safe. The mangled corpse it was dragging looked too big to be a student.” Kira looked horrified but clearly Malia seemed to think she was on a roll because she asked politely, “Do you like solving murders? It left a massive blood trail we can follow.” Finally, she seemed to realize Kira was looking unusually pale because she added hastily, “Don’t worry, I’m an expert predator. I can follow a fresh corpse for miles.”

 

               To say breakfast was a disaster was a grave understatement. Luckily, Lydia had the foresight to shroud the rest of their conversation before the students could hear more about a dead body over biscuits and eggs. Stiles himself had lost his appetite. Breakfast finished and the students were shuffled out to get ready for class. Stiles had morning classes and he usually took this time to get ready but Deaton passed the word they needed to have an urgent teachers meeting as quickly and quietly as possible.

 

               The staff assembled in record time. Everyone had heard about the half corpse found in the woods. Stiles sat with Malia and Lydia. Kira had fled as soon as she could. She wasn’t a staff member so she wasn’t in the room but her father was. Stiles tried to get more information out of Malia but the woman was too busy mulling over the breakfast.

 

               “Do you think it was weird to try and feed her?” Malia asked for the fourth time. “I mean, I’ve seen some of the students do it when they want to mate with each other. I thought it would be okay.”

 

               “Don’t copy the awkward mating rituals of seventeen year olds,” Lydia said.

 

               “I still don’t see how you aren’t more upset about the half corpse in the woods,” Stiles repeated. “Where’s the other half?”

 

               Malia rolled her eyes at him again. “It’s called the Forbidden Forest for a reason. I lost count the number of human bodies I’ve seen in there.”

 

               That disturbed Stiles more than anything but before he could comment Deaton finally came down from the spiraling staircase. The room fell into a hush.

 

               “As you have all probably heard, there was an incident during the First Year class this morning. Before we go further, I would like to say that it was in no way the fault of Professor Tate, and she did en exemplary job shielding the students from noticing anything had gone array. Thank you, Malia.”

 

               Malia smiled awkwardly as some of the professors whispered, suspicious looks still on their faces. Stiles ignored them, they would always find fault in what Malia did but as long as she had the support of Deaton she would be okay.

 

               “The Ministry will be sending Aurors to investigate. I’m going to have to ask that any research or lessons that may have involved leaving the school grounds to be postponed until they are through.”

 

               “Headmaster,” Professor Harris, a remedial Potions teacher who Lydia usually complained about raised his hand. “I hate to be the one to point this out but, isn’t this exactly like the Hale murder twelve years ago?”

 

               Stiles’s gaze slid to the corner of the room. Derek Hale stood stiffly, glaring as everyone tried to avoid his gaze. Stiles had nearly forgotten that. It had been the year before he had come to Hogwarts. He hadn’t known until part way through the year and he had made sure to never tell his father. It was hard enough convincing him to send him to boarding school when it had just been the two of them. He wasn’t about to tell his overly paranoid sheriff of a father about an unsolved murder on the grounds.

 

                Laura had been in her final year when half of her body had been found in the woods. At the time Derek had been just one year below Laura and Cora, his sister, had started the same year as Stiles. The other half had never been recovered. That was unusual in of itself but it didn’t help that most of the Hale family, one of the Old Wizarding families that seemed to pop up every other page in History textbooks, had been largely wiped out by a fire the previous year. Not only had it been tragic for so many people to lose their lives, it had been highly suspicious. As far as Stiles knew, the Aurors concluded it had been an old and faulty Floo chute that had eventually burned down the house. 

 

 

                  From what he had heard, Derek had been incredibly popular before the fire, captain of the Quidditch team with a new pretty thing on his arm every other week. The Derek Hale he remembered, though, was quite the opposite. He had been surly, barely scrapping together enough NEWTs to graduate and spent a lot of time creepily stalking his younger sister, who had been in Scott’s house. Stiles remembered him jumping out of a lot of dark corners whenever he studied with Scott late at night, demanding to know why Cora wasn’t in her common room yet.

 

               He had changed little since then, at least in terms of his terse words and scowling face, but his Muggle Studies students seemed to get along all right with him so Stiles hadn’t thought it a problem. Now, though, he could see Derek’s short temper getting ready to explode.

 

               “It has similar elements, yes,” Deaton said agreeably, drawing attention away from Derek with a casual ease. “But we shouldn’t jump to wild speculations. Now, if the students ask, please let them know there has been an incident and to not be alarmed. They are safe within the walls of the castle. We will be sending owls to all their parents and if they want to talk or feel afraid let them know I am always available, as is Professor Morell. Thank you for your cooperation.”

 

               The teachers broke into chatter as soon as Deaton had left. The Hale murders were something that had been turned over from every angle and was every teacher’s worst nightmare. Stiles had seen everything from Quidditch accidents, bloody noses, and that one time a student blew his eyebrows off in Potions. That was difficult enough. Above the din, one voice rose.

 

               “Cutting in half; isn’t that how you kill werewolves,” that was Harris again, even his voice sounding slimy. “If that’s what it was then I say let it go unsolved.”

 

               Stiles could almost feel the crackle of anger from the Hale-Braedon corner and several teachers inched to put distance between themselves and Harris. Stiles strained his neck to see if something exciting was going to happen but a sharp pinch on his arm made him turn.

 

               “Stiles.” Malia’s voice was exasperated as she tugged him until he grudgingly followed her out of the room. “What do I do next?”

 

               “What?”

 

               “With Kira,” she said impatiently. “We did breakfast. I asked her about books. What’s the next step?”

 

               “You asked her if she liked _murder_ then you invited her out to follow a blood trail,” Stiles corrected.

 

               “That was a date!” Malia protested. “You told me to ask her on a date!”

 

               “That’s your idea of a date?” Stiles felt out of his depth. Malia was looking at him all hopeful and confused and he gathered his patience like a cloak. “Okay, we need to strategize. Don’t talk to her for now, okay? We’ve got to figure out some damage control.”

 

               She nodded miserably and he placed a hand on her shoulder. “Don’t worry, we’ll figure this out.”

 

               Malia had things to prepare for classes and Stiles had his early morning class to teach. He separated from her with every intention to head in as straight a line as Hogwarts would allow to his classroom but when he turned a corner to what he was pretty sure was a shortcut, he found himself looking at Derek Hale. His stance was as tense as it had been in the staff meeting and his face was turned towards a tapestry in the corner. Cautiously, Stiles approached.

 

               “Professor Hale,” he said as he approached as to not startle the man. He hadn’t had much conversation with him besides talking about class conflicts or problem students they had in common since that welcome party just over a year ago. Derek looked up, eyes narrow in suspicion. Stiles stopped, uncertain if he was welcome but compelled to say something anyway. “Uh, I just wanted to say, I’m sorry about the meeting. Harris shouldn’t have brought up your sister.”

 

               Derek’s expression didn’t change. “Why? It is pretty much the same thing.”

 

               Stiles shifted on his feet. Up close the man was devastatingly attractive. “Still—“

 

               “Look—“ Derek stopped and squinted at him like he was a particularly annoying bug.

 

               “Stiles,” Stiles frowned, annoyed. “In case you forgot. It’s Stiles Stilinski.”

 

               “Whatever. Don’t concern yourself with my family, alright?”

 

               The tapestry moved. It was of a fox hunt, that much Stiles knew. The riders were in the background chasing something he couldn’t see but their wolfhounds had gotten bored and were lazing in the field closer to the edge. One was sitting close to the border, its chest as high as Derek’s hip, and raised a paw with a whine. Derek absently stroked the threads where the hound’s head was and it panted in contentment.

 

               “Fine,” Stiles tightened his lips in annoyance. “Sorry, got to go. Late for class.”

 

               Derek ignored him as he walked past. There in lay the other reason Stiles hadn’t bother to pursue Hale. The man was an utter asshole sometimes. He had better things to do with his time then waste it on people who didn’t want it.

 

               Before he totally turned the far corner though, he saw Braedon catch up with Derek. She looked angry but there was a coldness to it. Stiles shivered. As much as Derek pissed him off, he knew that Harris’s remark hadn’t gone unnoticed and that look promised trouble.


	3. An Unexpected Visitor

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: Graphic depiction of a dead body!
> 
> Also, I changed from 8 chapters to "?" because, while I know how the story is plotted out, I split some places into separate chapters instead of just breaks so I can post faster. It means more and shorter chapters but a faster posting schedule so that's cool with everyone... right?

                Between teaching, grading, and having to explain the fundamentals of computers and why they were off-limits to magical tinkering to the Caretaker _again_ Stiles didn’t forget about his promise to Malia but it did slip to the back of his mind. The weekend came before he managed to dig himself free from a few hundred feet of parchment from class Deaton had asked him to teach to the first years every other week. At the time he had been enthusiastic to cram the kids so full of Snickers bars and Pokemon they would be scrambling to sign up for his electives but now he was realizing the downfall of reading so many reports on My Muggle Hero. It took all his will power and smuggled Red Bull to get through the last five reports on Harry Styles, who by all accounts was a Squib with magical cousins who snuck him hair charms.

 

               Malia had convinced him to leave his ink stained desk behind and take a walk around the lake, claiming she was going wild from staying in the castle. The students were still told to stay inside the walls so it was quiet but Malia assured Stiles that he was safe as long as she stuck with her. Even so, he made sure his wand was within each reach as they set off.  She had been on edge when they left but Stiles saw her relax as soon as they could smell the mossy undergrowth of the Forbidden Forest.

 

              They made barely made it a third of the way around when their brainstorming was interrupted.

 

               “But maybe if I used a _sword_ to take down a deer she’d appreciate me using her choice of weapon—“

 

               “ _No_ , Malia, I swear to God, between you and Greenburg I’m never going to be off anti-stress potions for the rest of my life—“

 

               “Wait, shut up.”

 

               Stiles was about to retort but Malia had gone still and tense. He scrambled for his wand, cursing his robes as they tangled just when he didn’t want them too, but she relaxed just as quickly as she had panicked. “Never mind. It’s just Aurors.”

 

               “Just Aurors?” Stiles tried to slow his frantic heartbeat as he finally managed to wrestle his wand free. “Aurors aren’t happy news! Aurors mean violence and death and potentially explosive magic!”

 

               “That’s where the body was,” Malia gestured to a particularly dark and menacing pathway into the Forest. “I think they’re just investigating.”

 

               “You found the body _there_?” Stiles sputtered. “You said the lake was safe! Come on, let’s get back. We can talk after I put five protection spells on my door.”

 

               But Malia had already moved towards the path with an eager stride. Stiles contemplated the morals of just leaving her behind then cursed his choice of friends as he crashed into the Forest after her.

 

               The woods cancelled out the sunlight almost immediately and it took him a moment for his eyes to adjust. Malia hadn’t gone far and he picked his way over exposed roots until he was standing behind her shoulder. Just beyond her were, in fact, several scarlet robed Aurors with wands out marking what Stiles only assumed was important information with a glittering blue spell. He went to pull Malia back out of the woods but sighed when he recognized one scowling Auror and the short strawberry blonde criticizing his wand work.

 

               “Lydia,” he called out and she glanced up, surprised to see them. Jackson looked less surprised and more constipated when he saw them. Stiles waved, making sure to keep a hold on Malia’s sleeve so she wouldn’t walk into the crime scene like she clearly wanted to do.

 

               “Stay there,” Jackson sounded pissed and went to say something to his fellow Auror as Lydia made her way over to them.

 

               Stiles couldn’t see anything that made this an obvious murder spot but, hey, he hadn’t wanted to get into forensic magics. His younger self had been more prone to fits of adventure and gore but several witnessed Splinches had made him realize he didn’t ever want to see a human’s insides on the outside. They had taken away the remains of whoever it had been and he supposed the Forbidden Forest always had suspicious stains on the moss and rocks he wouldn’t be able to tell blood from the sap of the Mugwort flower.

 

               “What are you guys doing here?” Lydia had reached them, her steps apparently not disturbing the scene. “Deaton said to stay inside.”

 

               “Deaton said for the students to stay inside,” Malia said bluntly, curiously craning her neck to watch the other people work. “Did you find the blood trail?”

 

               Jackson had finished speaking to his team member and he had walked over with a twisted expression Stiles remembered from the time he and Scott had slipped a Farting potion into his pumpkin juice in third year. “Stilinski, if you so much as breath on something wrong—“

 

               “Did you find the blood trail?” Malia interrupted him, this time frowning because she hadn’t gotten an answer.

 

               “There’s no blood trail.” Jackson spared her a brief look and said with strained politeness Stiles was certain was from some kind of public relation seminar before turning his anger back on Stiles. “If I find any trace of you on this I’m going to get permission to turn apart your life so fast—“

 

               “No blood trail?” Malia ignored his entire one sided barrage of threats to Stiles. “Of course there’s a blood trail.”

 

               “Well, yes, there’s one coming in,” Jackson wavered between rage and duty, his eyes flickering back and forth between Malia and Stiles. “But the killer dropped the body and ran. They must have Scourgified themselves because we can’t find more than a few feet of foot prints. Now, Stilinski—“

 

               “You’re wrong,” Malia cut him off again, finally tipping Jackson over the edge.

 

               “Ma’am, you’re interfering with an Auror investigation. I’m going to have to ask you and the worthless piece of slimy Slytherin scum you came with to leave.”

 

               “Hey!” Stiles protested but Malia was already too busy pushing Jackson to the side in one rough, dismissing shove and striding through the carefully glittering murder scene. The other Aurors jumped but Jackson was faster, running after her as she carelessly broke a containment spell between two trees. Stiles and Lydia were half a second behind him but Stiles couldn’t help but laugh when he realized Jackson was holding a loose set of robes instead of a painfully clever witch.

 

               A coyote wiggled out of the bottom and darted into the woods.

 

               “Stay here!” Jackson ordered before taking off. Stiles assumed it was for his team because Stiles sure as hell wasn’t about to let Malia face off against Jackson alone as he plunged in after them.

 

               Stiles was used to running up and down the many changing stairs at Hogwarts so he found himself able to keep up to the much more athletic Jackson easily. He felt a sense of pride until he realized that Malia wasn’t escaping, she was leading them somewhere. He knew she could move much faster than them in her Animagus form but she was slowing just enough for them to keep her in sight. She paused to look over her shoulder with an exasperated look whenever Jackson tripped over a vine. Stiles managed to stay on his feet, ignoring Jackson’s curses and saving his breath for gloating for later.

 

                They couldn’t have gone that far, though it was hard to tell because nothing seemed linear in the Forest, when Stiles’s luck finally ran out. His foot slipped on a damp rock and he yelped as he slid down a steep embankment. He felt a hand grab at him but his weight and momentum must have knocked Jackson off balance too because they tumbled down together, only Jackson’s tight grip keeping them together. Later, Stiles would be grateful to it. Jackson’s bigger build and Auror training kept them from hitting anything other than a few trees as they slid several dozen feet. Stiles, his hands free, managed to snag a tree right before they hit the river running along the bottom. He dug his fingernails into the damp wood as Jackson found his footing and braced them so they wouldn’t fall into the rocky bottom below.

 

               Heart racing, Stiles let himself lean into Jackson’s secure grip as he got his faculties about him. He glanced up. Malia’s furry head was just visible at the lip of the hill and she cocked her head curiously. Stiles was ready to throw away any kind of promise he had made her and just drape her pelt in his classroom as a warning for anyone who tried to win over his loyalty again. Before he could muster up the strength for a really nasty spell, Lydia’s head popped up next to hers.

 

               “Jackson, are you okay?”

 

               Jackson shifted, pushing Stiles up so he get a hold of his tree well enough to support his weight. “Yeah, fine,” there was a pained grunt and Stiles almost felt guilty because the man had obviously taken the brunt of the fall. “Better if Stilinski would lay off the fucking Butterbeer.”

 

               There was the Jackson Stiles knew and despised.

 

               “Wait, we’ll levitate you up!”

 

               “Stiles!” That was Malia, her voice human. Stiles looked up again. She had transformed back but he glanced down quickly when he realized she was totally naked. Jackson had his eyes trained up and Stiles swiftly kicked him. “Do you see it?”

 

               He sighed. If he hadn’t been certain that Malia wasn’t harboring romantic feelings for him then the total lack of concern in her voice now would have assured him. “I’m a little busy not breaking my neck, thanks!”

 

               Jackson snorted and when Stiles went to kick him again. This time, though, his feet slipped on the leaves and he had to pull himself up further into the lee of his tree while Jackson laughed at him. He cursed, the muscles in his abdomen straining and scolding him for so many Chocolate Frog snack breaks, but then his hand hit something cold and spongy. He froze, Jackson’s snickering and Lydia’s quick “ _Accio_ robes!” fading as he brushed the mud and leaved away whatever was under his hand.

 

               Stiles had never seen a dead body so close up and he could now clearly state he never wanted to again.

 

               The man’s face was pocked with holes, wriggling white things he would later realized were maggots were around the man’s ears, nose and ruined eye sockets. He had made the fall, the same as Stiles and Jackson had but he seemed to have accumulated more undergrowth so he had snagged on the bush even though clearly he lacked the life to do so. No one may have ever found this half of him if not for the fact Stiles had grabbed this tree by chance.

 

               “ _Wingardum Leviosa!”_

 

               Stiles was too numb to fully appreciate the gentle way Lydia lifted his body up and away from the horrible, open-mouthed sight.


	4. In which Stiles drinks his problems away

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some drinking? Of age and all responsible like, of course. 
> 
> I'm sorry it's been a little late! School has started and if I thought being a student was busy I had no idea what I was getting myself into assigning summer journals over the break. 
> 
> I'm sorry if there are some minor errors. I tried to catch them but I'm mostly just shooting from the hip as I write. Please enjoy as best you despite them!

               “So Jackson and Lydia have been together for a long time?”

 

               Everything still felt cold, even with a wooly blanket covered in Warming Charms and a cup for hot chocolate Scott had helpfully laced with Firewhiskey. Stiles dragged his eyes away from the fireplace that was so grimy the only place it was fit to be was at the Hog’s Head. He felt like he was only taking in fixed locations— Lydia’s concerned eyes as she cupped his cheek, the infirmary nurse shoving chocolate after chocolate at him, a bearded Auror asking him questions, Scott’s hand as he dragged him out of Hogwarts, the black slime on the fire place—so the world didn’t settle until his gaze landed on Malia’s impatient face.

 

               “What?”

 

               “Jackson and Lydia. They seem happy. How did they get together?”

 

               Stiles blinked. Was Malia really asking this? After the traumatic events of the morning, Stiles was certain he couldn’t there wasn’t anything in the world that could shock him. However, this was the good kind of shock, someone had flipped the switch on a train and he could move down a different track. He blinked again and the colours seemed to brighten, though it being the filthiest pub in Hogsmeade that wasn’t saying much.

 

               “Uh, I’m not sure,” he said. “They’ve been together for as long as I can remember, though I don't know what she sees in that douchey asshole. Then again, maybe Lydia's spent so much time in the dungeons that she doesn't mind sleeping with his slimy disposition."

 

               Scott was back, this time with a crumbling looking tray of shot glasses that held something less insulting than hot chocolate. Stiles gratefully threw one back. Lydia and Jackson were there as well, both looking unfairly less traumatized than Stiles felt. Lydia’s brow had been furrowed in deep concentration since the Aurors had Levitated the top half of the body out of the gorge and whisked it away to confirm it was a match.

 

               “Lydia,” Malia turned, realizing that Stiles wasn’t much help right now. Lydia looked up from where she had been mesmerized by whatever the off-amber contents were in her mug. “Why are you with Jackson? Stiles says he's slimy and I always thought tactile pleasure was important."

 

               Scott snorted into his drink, splashing amber beer all over his sleeve and Jackson glared hard at Stiles. “I’m a catch, Stilinski. Watch your mouth.”

 

               Stiles passed Scott a grey rag that had been left on the table and Scott took it gingerly. “The only thing people are going to catch from you, Jackson, is some kind of new disease.”

 

               It was perhaps too harsh but it felt good to let off some of the day’s stress, especially if it made Jackson turn that lovely shade of purple. However, before Jackson could say something in return, Lydia cut them off.

 

               “Is this about Kira?”

 

               Malia gave Jackson and Scott a look as if daring them to laugh. Scott and Jackson had been on the same Quidditch team since fourth year and co-captains for the last year of that. On a day to day basis they had always been at each other’s throats but when it came down to it they had developed an eerie silent code of eyebrows and intense eye contact that had made Stiles think they had somehow figured out a telepathy spell. They both wisely figured out to just smile placidly without speaking and Malia relaxed slightly.

 

 

                “Some days, I have no idea what I see in him either,” Lydia said unhelpfully but she half smiled at Jackson when he sputtered. “Okay, well, he’s got some good points. I mean, he was in Gryffindor. When we first went out it was fashionable to have a Gryffindor boyfriend.”

 

               “Really?” Scott said skeptically. “I never heard about that.”

 

               “Yeah, you wouldn’t,” Jackson looked smug.

 

               “It was a mutually beneficial relationship,” Lydia continued as if they hadn’t spoken. “I got to date the upcoming captain of the Quidditch team to make my dorm mates jealous and he got to date me.”

 

               “There was more to it than that,” Jackson argued.

 

               “Not really,” she said straight faced but Stiles saw the small, playful glance she shot Jackson. “It helped you were the most tolerable Gryffindor. Usually they’re all noble and try to bring wild flowers or something to a first date.” She wrinkled her nose in disgust.

 

               “I had to drop a couple hundred Gallons in sixth year when we broke up,” Jackson groused and shot Stiles a malicious look. Stiles grinned back. He remembered that fight. That was the first time Lydia had hooked up with him simply to make Jackson angry. Stiles knew he should be more upset about being used that way but he had been halfway in love with Lydia since second year. He had known it wouldn’t last and when Jackson publicly presented her with the dragonfire forged silver brooch from Milan he had known he could never be enough for the force that was Lydia. Still, it had been a good run, whenever it happened.

 

               “So you bribed her,” Malia said seriously. “I can do that.”

 

                “No more animal hearts,” Stiles said quickly.

 

                 “You can’t bribe someone into loving you, Malia,” Lydia shot Stiles a disgusted look. “It’s more complex than that.”

 

                  “Tell me about it,” there was a depressed tone to her voice and Stiles saw Lydia frown.

 

                   “With Jackson and I, it’s not about the gifts, not really. It’s—“ Lydia looked uncomfortable as she searched for the words. “It’s the fire. The spark that makes you want to be with that person, no matter how angry they make you sometimes. Or maybe it’s because they make you so angry.” Stiles saw Jackson’s clenched jaw soften slightly as he listened and Stiles looked at his empty glass.

 

               “What is it about Kira that you like?" Scott asked, breaking the awkward tension with practiced ease. "I mean, have you even spoken to her?"

 

               "Yes," Malia said looking vaguely insulted. "I say good morning to her every day when she comes out of her rooms."

 

               Stiles felt maybe another talk about boundaries was necessary but Lydia jumped back into the conversation. "I think Scott means, why do you do that? Why Kira? Why not, say, Stiles or something?"

 

               Malia gave Stiles a side-eye looked as if she had never thought about it. “I don’t know,” she looked the same way Stiles did when he couldn’t figure out a particularly vexing spell. “Stiles always wakes up and smells like boy in the morning." Stiles made a face as Jackson sniggered but Malia gave a frustrated sigh before he could defend himself. "When I lived in the Forest things were simple. You were hungry, you hunted and ate something. You were tired, you slept. You wanted something, you took it.”

 

               “You do know you can’t just force Kira to date you,” Lydia suddenly looked worried. “Stiles did explain that to you, right?”

 

               Malia rolled her eyes as Stiles scowled. “Of course, I told her that! She’s well aware, thank you.”

 

               “Good,” Lydia said. “As long as that’s all cleared up.”

 

               “I just need her to notice me,” Malia’s voice was determined. “Thank you,” she added as an afterthought to Lydia. “I’ve got a lot to think about.”

 

               Lydia patted her hand and then leaned back against her chair, grimacing when she took a look around the tavern. “Why the hell did we decide to come here again?”

 

               “I don’t know, traumatic, nightmare inducing cadaver hunts?” Stiles said sourly. “Was I the only one who doesn’t need a memory spell to forget that?” He shuddered as the images of the man’s face floated to the top of his brain now that there wasn’t anything to distract him.

 

               “Traumatic cadavers _and_ three-for-two sickle Hippogriff shots,” Scott corrected and pushed another off colour shot toward Stiles. Stiles took it gratefully.   

 

               The shot was slimy going down but almost immediately made Stiles feel lighter as the memory of the body started to distort with alcohol. “I am never going back into that Forest.”

 

               “At least we have his face now,” Jackson said, sniffing and clearly happy to be moving onto a topic that didn’t involve his love life or human emotion. “We’ve already matched him in the werewolf registry from his blood but now we can let his family know.”

 

               Harris’s words floated to the top of Stiles’s mind. “Wait—he was a werewolf?”

 

               Jackson grunted affirmatively. “Why else would do you think Lydia was there?”

 

               Stiles, in fact, had no idea why Lydia had been at the scene. He had suspected it had something to do with Lydia’s weird, roleplaying kinks and Jackson’s willingness to do whatever it took to keep her happy but he wasn’t about to call attention to that. Lydia rolled her eyes as if she could see his thoughts printed on his forehead.

 

               “It’s because I’m the forerunner on werewolf behavior studies right now, you moron. I’ve been writing that book, remember? I was at the Ministry conducting interviews with born werewolves when you were working there.”

 

               She had been in his old office a lot, he remembered suddenly. At first it was because she and Jackson would fight and break up and then Lydia would drop in unexpectedly. Sometimes, it one thing led to another and they would end up at Stiles’s cramped studio apartment with both of them regretful in the morning. Other times it was just to talk. He tried to remember when the last time they had actually ended up in bed together was but it had been a while. He remembered a few sniggering jokes about love bites and ‘that time of the month’ from his more detestable coworkers but he had always assumed they were talking about Lydia and it had soured his relationship towards them even further.

 

               “Werewolves?” Scott raised an eyebrow. “Why were you talking with werewolves?” Lydia gave him a blistering glare and Scott backpedaled quickly. “Not that I have anything against werewolves! But, I thought since the Wolfsbane was made free and they started those anonymous owl deliveries by the Ministry things were fine.”

 

               “The Wolfsbane potion _is_ all well and good,” Lydia said smugly. “But it’s a stopgap, nothing more. Do you have any idea how painful the transformation is and the kind of long term toll it takes on the human body? Even if they can keep their human minds the psychological exhaustion is—“ she paused and took a breath. Stiles and Scott exchanged a surprised glance. For all the time Lydia and Stiles had been friends, he had never realized how close she had been to the werewolf situation. Something turned over uneasily in Stiles stomach. He had always considered Lydia a close friend but for the first time he wondered just how well he had paid attention. If Lydia saw the confusion on Stiles’s face she didn’t comment on it. “In any case, I’ve been working on something much better.”

 

               “Better than Wolfsbane potion?” That made Stiles start. “Are you talking about a cure?”

 

               “Not a cure,” Lydia shook her head. “But I can give them back control of their bodies.”

 

               There was a hushed silence at the table. Stiles saw Scott glance around nervously as if someone was going to overhear. That was stupid, he was certain there were much more disreputable things happening in the tavern then an idle conversation about magical creature autonomy.  However, Lydia did drop her voice. “I’ve made a potion that will make it so werewolves don’t have to wait for the full moon to transform. They will keep their minds and be able to slip between being a wolf and a man at will.”

 

               Stiles realized the need for secrecy and glanced around himself. Werewolves were tolerated if they were taking their Wolfsbane potions regularly because it was a disease being treated. People could no longer argue that responsible werewolves were any more a danger than a person with an incurable Belching curse. But that didn’t mean werewolves weren’t able to cause a lot of terror and destruction with their human minds and wolf transformations. A man committing a murder was bad enough. A man with the strength of a wolf and human intelligence was even worse. There were already people who wanted to lock up turned werewolves on the three nights surrounding full moons, Wolfsbane potion or not, and Stiles couldn’t imagine how people would feel if werewolves could change every night of the month.

 

               “Lydia—“

 

               “I’m still testing it,” Lydia said quickly. “But it seems to be working. Think of how great it would be. It wouldn’t be any different than having an Animagus form. No more stress on their bodies, no more traumatic transformations.”

 

               It _was_ a great idea, and that was the problem, Stiles thought grimly. Great ideas were rarely met without resistance and he didn’t want to think about what would happen if people found out about Lydia’s research. He wondered exactly how Lydia was conducting her experiments and who was testing this potion as she never seemed to leave the castle but Scott shifted another glass into his hand and he took it automatically.

 

               “So you knew this guy?” Scott asked and Lydia shook her head.

 

               “No, he wasn’t one of the people I was interviewing. But a lot of werewolves run in the Forbidden Forest on the full moon, Wolfsbane or not,” she said then her face hardened. “And unfortunately a lot of Hunters know that. He was cut with a broadsword.”

 

               “That’s a signature Hunter kill,” Jackson added quickly lest his girlfriend show up his Auror skills.

 

               “Great,” Malia said darkly. “Hunters. I’m going to have to check my territory.”

 

               “Tomorrow,” Scott pushed another shot at her. “Tonight is about forgetting all that.”

 

               “Here, here,” Lydia grabbed another and held it up.

 

               Stiles joined, grateful to wipe the confusing and painful topics from his mind while he still could.

 

               By the time they started down the dark path to Hogwarts, Stiles was having trouble putting one foot in front of the other. When they had left Hog’s Head he had assured Scott he was perfectly capable of w _alking_ , thank you, the shots dulling the pain of the scrapes and bruises that hadn’t quite finished healing yet. Besides, while Lydia and Jackson were going to stay where Aurors were put up at in the Three Broomsticks, Stiles had to be back for breakfast duty the next morning. Malia, almost as drunk as he was but much better at hiding it with her stony exterior, had escaped Scott’s mothering concern. He had made her promise to see Stiles back safely and she had nodded like she was agreeing with him.

 

               The dirty liar.

 

               They had barely made it out of the town’s cheerful gates when she had informed Stiles she leaving and slipped into her coyote form and into the Forest. Stiles shouted but she was gone within a minute. She would be fine, of course. Even as an inebriated coyote she was better equipped with Forest survival than anything that wanted to eat her, but now Stiles found himself unable to follow the path back to the castle without wobbling sideways for every step forward.

 

               As much as he wanted to curse Malia out for abandoning him it was kind of nice to have a chance to catch his breath. Lydia’s words kept on sifting in his mind, bringing painful realizations to the surface. Was he a shitty friend? He had never really thought about it before. He had always thought he had been there for Scott, through every embarrassing crush or painful hex thrown their way. When he had finally finished the lengthy treatment for his asthma in third year Stiles had been there. The nurse had spent weeks muttering darkly about Muggle medicines and child endangerment, making Scott clutch the eighty dollar inhaler Stiles knew his mother had scrounged for. Stiles had seen red and slipped a blistering hex into her shoes. That was friendship, right? It was the Slytherin concept of friendship at any rate.

 

               Jackson, as much of a dick wad as he was, had been in Gryffindor. Lydia, bright, manipulative and twisted had made it into Ravenclaw. Even Derek, surly and mean at times had somehow been in Huffelpuff. What had the Sorting Hat seen in Stiles to put him so far away from all the people he held dear now?

 

               The castle was just coming into view when he heard the sound of footsteps and he paused. The memory of the dead man was suddenly the only vivid thought he could form and fear welled up in his throat. He found himself fumbling for his wand for the second time that day, this time with much clumsier fingers. Out of the shadows of the Forest he saw a figure and he pointed the wrong end of his wand at it before he could think.

 

               “ _Expelli—“_

 

               “Stop that!”

 

               Stile knew that angry voice before he could make out the face. Derek Hale snatched the wand from his hand before Stiles could complete the spell. Stiles slumped in relief and it was only Derek’s quick reactions that kept him from hitting the ground.

 

               “You need to announce yourself,” Stiles scolded and gripped Derek’s unfairly firm forearm to steady himself. “There was a murder in there, you know.”

 

               Derek was watching him with raised eyebrows. “Yeah. I heard. Did _you_?”

 

               “Didn’t _hear_ ,” Stiles knew his voice was annoying singsong but it seemed like a good idea to keep it from cracking. “I _saw_ it!”

 

               Derek was surprisingly gentle as he pulled Stiles forward, finally and reassuringly in a straight movement, towards the castle. “And your response to that is to get irresponsibly drunk and walk next to a murder scene. Brilliant. I understand why you teach Muggle Studies.”

 

               “Hey, that’s pretty out of line,” Stiles tried to yank his arm free. “My entire family are Muggles and they’re much smarter than a grumpy, chiseled buzzkill like you.”

 

               “Chiseled?” Derek sounded almost amused.

 

               “Yeah,” Stiles said trying to keep his tongue under control. “You heard me. Chiseled, you know like marble or stone. _Cold_ like your heart.” He felt Derek shaking with contained laughter and his annoyance grew. “What the hell are you doing out here?”

 

               Derek was quiet for a moment before saying, “I wanted to get a look for myself.”

 

               “Don’t worry,” Stiles said. “It’s not like your sister, unless she was a werewolf too or something.” Derek stiffened and Stiles nearly tripped over his feet. “Hey, man, one of us is steering and it’s not me!”

 

               Either Derek was superhuman fast or Stiles was at the point of drunkness that time seemed to teleport forward because it wasn’t long before they were inside the castle walls. He expected Derek to dump him in the hallway kept for teachers of Slytherin house and be done but surprisingly the man hauled him all the way to the custom portrait Stiles had brought from home. He heard Derek snort in amusement when Roscoe honked a friendly greeting.

 

               “You brought a picture of your car?”

 

               “No,” Stiles said just as snidely back. “Cover your ears, I’ve got to say the password.”

 

               “Don’t you trust me?”

 

               What a stupid question. Stiles barely knew the man; of course he wasn’t going to trust him with something as important as his password. Stiles pulled away and this time Derek let him. He stumbled but managed to catch himself, sniffing as Derek didn’t bother to hide his grin. That was unfair as well—no one should look that attractive at a glower and with a smile.

 

               However, it wasn’t just the idea of giving out his password that made Stiles cross his arms and wait. If Derek overheard this month’s password then Stiles was going to have to pack up and flee in the night before Braedon got a hold of his scrawny neck.

 

               He glared until Derek sighed and covered his ears securely. Suspicious, Stiles whispered softly, “Hale, yes.”

 

               He thought he heard a snicker behind him but when he looked Derek still had his ears covered and was squinting at the metal work on a nearby suit of armour.

 

              “Coming in?” Stiles leaned against the door, nearly tumbling to the floor when he missed the edge. Derek caught him again, the man must have been some Quidditch player with reflexes like that, and helped him climb through the door way.

 

               Stiles mourned the fact he was a little too drunk to appreciate this as he quickly kicked off his runners and tugged at his shirt. Derek, surprisingly, had followed him in and was looking around at the books and computer parts littering the floor. Stiles was tangled in the collar of his tee shirt as Derek poked at a stack of green Xbox cases.

 

               “What are all these things?” Derek asked, his back turned as Stiles freed himself. “Muggle books?”

 

               “No,” Stiles retorted. “Muggles have regular books too, you know. Except for E-books I suppose but—hey, be careful with that!”

 

               Derek froze, the shotgun in his hand pointed at the wall. It wasn’t loaded, Stiles had spent all his breaks and summers in a sheriff’s office so his ammo was under lock and magical key under his bed. However, he must have forgotten to put this away after cleaning it and he gingerly plucked it from Derek’s hands. “No touchy guns, okay?”

 

               Derek scoffed but his eyes tracked it intrigued. “A Muggle gun?”

 

               “You say that like there’s another kind. Muggles invented guns, remember?”

 

               “I’ve never seen one up close.”

 

               “And you won’t, unless you get written permission from the Ministry to take an extra credit class for the NEWT.”

 

               The gun locker was behind a tapestry and he quickly muttered the spells, too befuddled to try and use wordless magic now, to open it. He placed the rifle in and closed it securely.

 

               “You teach the kids about guns?”

 

               “I teach _one_ kid, _one class,_ about gun safety. And these are only hunting rifles, it’s not like I’ve got a semi or anything like that. Deaton knows about it.”

 

               Derek held up his hand in mock surrender. “I wasn’t getting at anything. Besides, I doubt a gun is any use against a wand.”

 

               It was only years of reflexive survival in the Slytherin common room that kept his cool head at the haughty tone. As it was, the alcohol still running through his system was the only thing that made him say the next thing. “A gun against a wand? How long does it take for you to think of a spell let alone execute it?”

 

               “Well—“

 

               “Boom,” Stiles pulled a mock trigger at him. Derek glared. “Dead. Whoops, too busy making fun of the Muggle. Bet you feel silly now, making fun of something you don’t understand.”

 

               Derek was quiet this time and Stiles grinned. It was strange, usually he hated getting into these kinds of fights over and over again but there was an oddly thoughtful look in Derek’s eyes. He wondered what would happen if he pressed the issue but a wave of tiredness washed over him and he had to fight a yawn.

 

               “I think any gun is useless if the person carrying it is too exhausted to aim right,” Derek pointed out and Stiles wasn’t going to argue with that. Derek didn’t budge as Stiles took off his pants and crawled under the covers. A better, less lubricated host would have shown Derek out but he was too drained to care. If Derek wanted to pilfer his Hardy Boys collected while he slept he had no power to stop him.

 

               However, to his surprise, Derek was tugging his blanket with a shocking amount of efficiency and tucked the corners in tightly.

 

              “Where do you keep your Hangover-B-Gone?” he was rummaging in the drawers next to the bed. Stiles struggled against the blankets but it was like Derek had shoved them so far under the mattress it would take a feat of inhuman strength to get free.

 

               “What the hell, man? Did you like mate the mattress to this?” Derek sighed and pulled out the compress to press against Stiles’s forehead. The background nausea in his stomach vanished instantly and, as much as he loved his PS4, Stiles was forever grateful he was a wizard. His relief was short lived, though, because Derek was suddenly standing and moving towards the door. “Hey!” He still couldn’t achieve more movement than a wiggle. “Where are you going? What if I have to pee?”

 

               “See you tomorrow,” Derek called flippantly as the door closed and Stiles growled his fury to his bed curtains. He was going to dedicate the rest of the night saying curses on every marble carved muscle Derek possessed but drifted off to sleep when he got distracted thinking about his biceps.


	5. A Scholarly Dispute

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Why not add some Season 4 cast members? It's not like this was supposed to be a porny, professor-on-professor pwp story to distract me from my writer's block on the sequel to Science of Evasion.

“Don’t forget under the couch.”

 

 Liam Dunbar gave him a nasty look and reached for his wand. Stiles raised an eyebrow and the fifth year student lowered it. “How the hell do you expect me to get under the couch without a Levitation spell?”

 

Stiles raised an eyebrow at him, shaking a disapproving finger because he knew what riled up teenagers the fastest. Doing chores without magic; Stiles had discovered this during his first year teaching at Hogwarts. Even though students couldn’t use magic outside of the school until they were seventeen, if they grew up in magical households they still had countless charms and items to help them around the house: Never Smudge Mirrors, All Catch Dusters that drew dirt to them, Self Sorting Shelves, not to mention all the cleaning potions that required no scrubbing. The first time Stiles had snuck out of Hogwarts for a weekend getaway with his current Pureblood fling he had nearly stolen the guy’s No Spot Remover for his laundry-hapless father. It was a perfect punishment and, if things went according to Stiles’s plan, he would never have to vacuum his magic-repellent office himself again. “That’s not up to me to figure out. If you’re dumb enough to get detention on my watch then I’ve got to teach you to be smart enough to not get it again. Figure it out.”

 

There was a chuckle on the other side of the room and Stiles glanced at his other detainee. Brett noticed him looking and hastily shoved his Swifer into another high corner. Liam was wrestling with the cord again, cursing under his breath as he tried to jam the nozzle of the vacuum under the thin space between the couch and the floor. He knew he should be more careful with handling Liam. Liam had, after all, gotten this detention because of a shouting match that had descended to blows. Not that Stiles blamed him—sometimes he wanted to punch Brett across the face too, even though the older boy was in his House.

 

Stiles wasn’t sure what the argument had been about this time. He suspected it had something to do with Brett’s younger sister, a first year in Liam’s house, but he hadn’t cared when he had broken the two boys up at breakfast.

 

Malia had shown up at breakfast late, twigs in her hair and a piece of mud streaked across her face like a football player who had gone rogue in the wilderness. Stiles had glared hard as she and settled, her face more zombie than blank as she had stared at the feast in front of her without seeing it.

 

“Enjoy your romp in the woods?” Stiles had asked snarky and picked an acorn out of her hair. She had looked at him, the hollows under her eyes nearly black.

 

“I’m never drinking Hippogriff shots again.”

 

“That’s how they get you,” his anger had shifted into smug righteousness. She had looked like she was suffering and that was a good enough revenge for him. “Treat them with respect or they’ll cut you down.”

 

“I don’t even remember how I got back,” she said.  

 

“I did fine, no thanks to you.”

 

She laid her head on the table and groaned. Then she said muffled, “Stiles, why does being in love feel like this?”

 

Stiles snorted. “That’s not love, that’s a hangover. Remember, you figured that out last year after the Christmas party.”

 

She turned her head so she could give him a dirty look. “I didn’t mean that. I mean, why do I feel nervous every time I catch her scent? Isn’t love supposed to make you feel happy?”

 

Stiles shifted in his seat. He had no advice for her. He patted her awkwardly and was almost grateful when he heard one of the second year girls scream. When he looked up, Liam had been on top of Brett, wands to the side forgotten as they smashed into the heavy benches.

 

“You have to get behind the books too,” Stiles switched his attention to Brett who was half-heartedly poking at the spines of the books.

 

Brett was Muggle-born, something Stiles had perked up at when he had looked through the student enrollment list. Muggle-born and in Slytherin, Stiles had thought he could be a mentor to him or something. But at well over six-feet and the rock star Slytherin Keeper, he didn’t have the same problems Stiles, skinny and awkward, had suffered.

 

Liam kicked the couch in another fit of anger and Stiles sighed. “It’s called muscle power, Liam. Just vacuum around it then push it over and vacuum under it.”

 

“That’s stupid.”

 

“That’s how Muggles live.”

 

 “Case and point.”

 

The comment was said to be mean and Stiles was about to rain down more Muggle-chore terror on the kid when Brett beat him to it. Stiles barely managed to dodge as Brett threw his dry-cling wipe down and hurtled across the other couch. Liam seemed ready for it and got in a few roundabout punches before they went down on the ground, punching, kicking and, oh Lord, Liam was a biter.

 

“Jesus H. Christ,” Stiles reached for his wand then swore again. Those same wards that kept him from casting the simplest cleaning spell also made sure he couldn’t cast any other kind of spell either. He wouldn’t be able to separate oil from water by magic let alone two boys who seemed intent on beating the crap out of one another. “Hey, stop! Twenty points from both your houses!”

 

It didn’t even slow them down. Liam let out a war cry and managed to flip Brett on to his back, elbowing him hard. Stiles yelped as he was forced to jump out of the way when Brett kicked his legs like a windmill and nearly got free. Panicked, he realized they were quickly headed towards all his game consoles. He looked around frantically but there was nothing in here that could help him. Maybe he could take on Liam, the kid was scrappy but not very tall yet. Brett, though, must have been taking the magical equivalent to steroids because he was taller and broader than any sixteen year old should be. Teacher or not, both boys seemed blind to anything but their fight and Stiles wasn’t looking forward to the healing spells and paperwork involved in getting injured in a physical confrontation. His mind made up, he darted towards the door and threw it open, praying that someone would be nearby.

 

“Hale!” Stiles had never been so glad to see that backside (and he had been plenty happy to see it in the past). “Professor Braedon! A little help!”

 

He must have looked desperate because both turned and jogged down the hall without any kind of comment. The portraits, usually a background whisper, grew louder as they asked what the matter was. They were always sore about not being allowed in Stiles’s office but Stiles ignored them now as he let the two into the room. Derek stood for a moment, open-mouthed shocked, but Braedon leapt into the fray with a manic grin. Brett had Liam in a headlock but Liam with a good grip on the other kid’s collar but in sync they both tried to scramble apart when they saw her. It didn't matter though. Braedon caught both of them by the hair, yanking them apart and making them yelp like wronged puppies. Then, she brought their heads together swiftly in a loud and painful sounding thunk. Both boys went reeling as Braedon let them go, clutching their heads and groaning.

 

“Oh my God!” Stiles grabbed Brett, the boy closest to him, before he could fall and hurt himself further. “Are you okay?”

 

Derek had caught Liam with one arm. Liam was a good head shorter then him and clutched at his elbow, dazed. Braedon stood in the middle, grinning like she had just made a good time on a sprint not like she had just assaulted two underage boys.

 

“What the hell is the matter with you?” Stiles managed to get his faculties under control now that neither kid looked like they were going to suddenly die. “You can’t concuss students!”

 

Braedon shrugged. “My bad. Next time you want a problem solved I’ll be sure to debilitate them some way else. Some way that will leave less evidence,” she grinned toothily at them and Brett, a good head taller than Stiles, shrunk in his grasp. “Derek?” she paused as she strode out but Derek rolled his eyes and gestured to Liam, still somewhat unsteady on his feet. She snorted and left the two.

 

“Infirmary,” Stiles ordered. “Then the Headmaster. And get ready to become more intimate with my vacuum cleaner, Liam, because you’re going to see a hell of a lot more of it.”

 

Liam groaned again but this time not from pain. Stiles wished he could trade kids without embarrassing himself. It wasn’t like Derek was any taller than him but where Stiles got his exercise sprinting after moving staircases, Derek obviously put the Defense part of his teaching title to good use. Brett didn’t need more than a guiding hand and someone to lean on but by the time he had deposited the kid in the nurse’s care his entire left side felt numb. Derek watched him with an amused grin as he tried to massage the feeling back into his shoulder.

 

“Thanks for the help.”

 

“Braedon did most of it,” Derek said.

 

“I meant for last night too,” Stiles added. To his surprise, Derek glanced away at the mention. He squinted—was Derek _blushing_? “Though you do seem to be popping up in all the right places.” That was a blush. It was almost endearing. For a moment, Stiles felt his stomach flip nervously. He shoved the feeling aside and bumped his shoulder against Derek’s. “Look, if you’re not doing anything later—“

 

All teachers in the school carried a metal pendant around their necks at all times. It didn’t matter where they were or what they were doing, if they took it off then it was grounds for almost immediate firing. Stiles and Derek both froze when it grew suddenly very hot. It could only mean one of two things: either Greenburg had accidentally triggered the alarms again or a student was in danger.

 

The pendant was blank so Derek and Stiles took off running to the staff room. The infirmary was frustratingly far and they had to slow whenever they saw students. Stiles didn’t want to kids to panic so he grinned tightly to the Ravenclaw girls as he passed them. Derek seemed to have an innate ability to tell when they were about to round a corner on students. Stiles would say it was like magic but it was Hogwarts. It was hard to believe it could be anything but.

 

They were the one of the last to arrive at the staff room and it was already loud and panicked.  Braedon was at Derek’s side in a split second and Stiles took a quick step away. He berated himself—what had he been thinking earlier? He had seen Braedon’s disregard to violence and pain. If she was willing to knock students around just to break up a simple fight she would probably bend Stiles over her knee and break him in half if she found out he had tried to make a move on Derek.

 

The staircase moved and brought a hush around the room as Deaton came down the spindly stairs. He was moving swiftly but measured and his face gave nothing away.

 

“Greenburg, what the hell did you do this time?”

 

“It wasn’t Greenburg this time, Professor Finstock,” Deaton said smoothly. “I regret to inform the staff that we’ve had another body recovered this morning.”

 

A chill ran down Stiles’s side. Another one? He thought back to last night when he had been walking through the woods. Had it happened then? He glanced over at Derek involuntarily. The man was watching Deaton, his stare intent and unreadable. As if Derek could sense him, he looked over and met Stiles’s eye for an instant before Stiles managed to look away.

 

“Was it—I mean, was it like the last one?” one of the Herbology professors, a stumpy woman with white hair asked. There was a murmur around the room. “All—in pieces?” her squeaky voice dropped to a near whisper. The room buzzed.

 

“If you mean was the victim sliced in half, then no,” Deaton had a pained look on his face. “It appears that the woman was attacked by a creature, something with fangs and claws but there’s no need to place blame—“

 

This was too much for the teachers to handle and Harris jumped to his feet. “Headmaster, surely you can’t expect us to just be calm about this when clearly there’s some kind of rogue w _erewolf_ —“

 

“Sit down, Professor!” Deaton frowned, trying to get control of the room but the buzz had grown into full voices, speculating in frightened tones. Stiles turned at a touch on his elbow and saw Lydia with a pinched white look on her face. 

 

“Lydia, what the hell is going on?”

 

“Later,” she said quietly, glaring at a nosy teacher trying to eavesdrop. “Come on.”

 

The Headmaster was surveying the room but he seemed focused on the louder groups of teachers calling for Ministry intervention teams. He seemed too distracted to notice them, so Stiles followed Lydia out the door into the hallway. The room sealed shut with a Silencing Charm as they closed it and the sudden quiet felt like a vacuum. Lydia was already moving swiftly down the hall, holding her robes up so she could move quickly, and Stiles had to jog to catch up.

 

He knew better than to ask Lydia something twice but he couldn’t help himself when she stopped in front of a statue of an old Hag. “Lydia, what’s wrong?”

 

She gave him a silencing look and then glanced around. “Not here.” To Stiles’s surprise, she reached out with her wand and tapped the back of the statue. “ _Dessendium_ ,” she whispered and to his astonishment, the hump disappeared. Lydia climbed up and dropped out of sight without hesitation but Stiles had to gather his courage to follow.

 

Thankfully, it was a short slide before he handed almost on top of Lydia at the bottom. He stumbled and had to reach out to grab a grimy stone wall.

 

“Where the hell—“

 

“I’ve got to show you something,” Lydia said. “And it can’t be here.”

 

“Lydia, we can’t just leave the castle without telling—“

 

“Deaton will understand.”

 

It was dark and Stiles found himself stumbling, even after they cast a _lumos._ They walked for a while, so far in fact that Stiles was pretty sure they were well outside of even the Quidditch field, when Lydia stopped at a distinctly heart shaped rock. She pushed and it shifted with a loud grumble that Stiles thought for sure was going to bring the tunnel down on them. Thankfully, it just collapsed into itself until it formed a rough set of stairs. Lydia gestured for him to follow, as if he wasn’t going to grab on her to for dear life because he had no idea where the hell they were going, and led them up.

 

 When they emerged, it was somewhere in the Forbidden Forest. Stiles bit back a tangent of curses on her. This was hardly the place he wanted to be, especially after yesterday and the second murder from this morning. He wasn’t about to be left behind, though, so he followed her a short distance. It felt like a scene from yesterday only this time instead of an empty crime scene it was clearly still in the preliminary stages of investigation. Stiles’s steps faltered and stopped when he realized the unmoving clump of robes weren’t empty.

 

“Lydia,” he said calmly. “Please tell me you did not bring me to see what I think that is.”

 

“Jackson,” she greeted the man who was crouched over the body. “I brought him.”

 

 “Good. Get over here, Stilinski.”

 

“No,” Stiles took a step back, shaking his head firmly. “I refuse to do this again.”

 

“I need you to identify her.”

 

Stiles took another step back. No, there was no way he could handle this. Yesterday the man had been a stranger. He certainly wasn’t going to come any closer for this. He could taste bile in the back of his throat. Jackson was glaring at him but Lydia seemed to take in his face and she sighed. “I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t important.”

 

“Don’t you guys have spells for this kind of thing?”

 

“Yes,” Jackson said, angry. “And they aren’t working. Come on, Stilinski. Stop being a coward. You’ve been like this since first year, always looking out for yourself. Man up.”

 

“It’s not cowardly to not want to traumatize myself,” Stiles bumped into a tree as he tried to distance himself. “And clearly you’re not looking out for my well-being so why shouldn’t I?”

 

 “Either you look at her or I have to send for a loved one and, honestly, I thought you were the kind of guy to spare someone else that pain.”

 

Stiles hated the way the image of the dead man rose so quickly in his mind. Mostly, though, he hated the way Jackson of all people could make him feel like an ass. He steeled himself and walked forward.

 

It took him a moment. The woman’s throat had been torn out and her face had bloated in the moisture of the forest. For a minute it barely look any different from the heads in Knockturn Alley and Stiles had spent a fair amount of his youth poking around there with Scott. Then he noticed the pretty curve to her lips, remembered the way she had kissed him with a wicked opportunistic smile and his stomach dropped.

 

“It’s Violet, yeah,” he said and promptly sat down hard. Jackson covered her face again.

 

Violet- he hadn’t thought of the girl in ages. She had been sorted into Slytherin in his sixth year. She had been around the same age but discovered late. It happened sometimes, to orphans. Even though the magical acceptance letters were supposed to be able to get back Muggle social service systems recent changes had made it harder for children to simply disappear from the system. Violet, he remembered, had been passed through foster homes so quickly the letters couldn’t keep up. He didn’t know much else about her, other than she had wicked fingers and an adventurous spirit that had led to more than one after curfew adventure in the trophy halls. She had left Hogwarts after only six months when the Headmaster had deemed private education more suitable.

 

It didn’t seem to matter what kind of magical education she had gotten because it had landed her here.

 

Lydia took him back to the entrance of the tunnel and he returned quickly, too numb to really notice the passage of time. When he got back into the castle the staffroom meeting had obviously broken up. It was nearly dinner time and Stiles couldn’t fathom the thought of food so he started to make his way to his rooms.

           

To his surprise, the hallway wasn’t empty as usual. Derek was leaning against the wall, his hands shoved into his pockets. He had a way about him, casualness in his well fitting, high quality robes that Stiles couldn’t manage to pull off. His own robes were often shoved up to his elbows because they ended to get caught in whatever Muggle mechanical thing he was teaching about, and the pockets were often heavy and bulging with trickets he carried around. Stiles caught himself staring for a moment before he realized that Derek had asked him something and was waiting expectantly.

 

“Sorry, what was that?” he asked, hoping his face didn’t show how flustered he felt.

 

“I said, did you need me to do anything about the fight today?” Derek had one eyebrow raised like he thought Stiles was in idiot and this time Stiles knew his face flushed. “Reports?”

 

“Oh,” the fight had long since fled Stiles’s mind. “No, I don’t think so. I’ll handle that. Thanks, though.”

 

Derek nodded and straightened. He paused before leaving though, his hands still in his robe before he finally pulled out a wrapped cloth.

 

“Here,” he shoved the package at Stiles, not meeting his eye. “The house elves gave me this to give to you. In case you skipped out on dinner.”

 

There was a sandwich in the napkin and Stiles turned it over slowly. The house elves, while incredible intuitive and helpful, had too many people to keep track of to worry about one professor missing dinner. He opened his mouth to tell Derek as much but the man had already taken off and was turning the corner with his robes billowing mysteriously behind him.

 

  


	6. How the other half lives

“Did you hear?”

 

“The guy they found in the woods—“

 

“The one that was sawed in half?”

 

“No, not that one! The guy that—“

 

“I heard he wasn’t sawed, someone used a Gladio spell and sliced right through him!”

 

“Gladio spell? Wasn’t that the spell that Marty the Muggle used in volume 12—“

 

“Guys, would you just listen!” the first speaker sounded ready to use their own version of a Gladio spell to silence her audience. “The _second guy_ —“

 

“I thought it was a girl.”

 

Stiles left as the first speaker let out an anguished cry. He didn’t need to hear the rest of it. Gossip was what kept the castle walls up, not magic like most people seemed to foolishly assume, and there was nothing Stiles could do it stop it. So far he had heard a dozen versions of both murders: it was a Hufflepuff first year, it was the father of one of the students, it wasn’t really a person at all but a transfigured dog, it was only one body but was a two headed mutant that had lived in the Forest undetected for years—really, the creativity was shocking. Stiles was still in disbelief his Sci Fi literature unit hadn’t gone over better. 

 

He made his way to the Gryffindor tower, rolling his eyes when he saw all the stairs. It was typical of the entire house to set up bold challenges for themselves but it didn’t mean he had to like it. Luckily, the teacher’s rooms weren’t as high as the student’s dormitories and he slipped down the corridor to where the portrait of a dark-skinned debutant was idly scratching her nose and staring at a spider web forming in the corner of the frame. He hesitantly cleared his throat and the girl nearly fell off her chair.

 

“Oh, excuse me!” she said and flushed when she saw him. “Professor Stilinski, it’s barely noon.” Then she winked and leaned forward. “The lady is all in a tizzy.”

 

Stiles wondered what exactly the girl could be talking about because Malia was the least tizzy person he knew. “Would you let her know I’m here?”

 

The girl curtsied and went through a painted door behind her. Soon, the portrait clicked open and Stiles took that as an invitation.

 

Stiles’s room was pretty typical for him. The four poster bed was shoved to the side so he could fit the dozens of knickknacks and magazines he ordered from Amazon to Hogsmeade’s small, Muggle post office in. It took effort to keep up to day in the Muggle world  when he lived surrounded by wizards but he was determined to not be one of those clueless Muggle-born he had known who didn’t even know who Katy Perry was. The few times he had been to Malia’s room it had been much the same with things that made the room seem like a refuge from the rest of the castle. However, while Stiles stocked up on PC World and Twizzlers, Malia had dragged in plants, foliage, and skins from animals she displayed proudly as having hunted and eaten herself.

 

That was what Malia’s room usually was like.

 

“What the—“

 

“Stiles!” Malia’s head popped up from around a stack of books. There was a smudge of ink, not dirt, not dried blood or other body fluids from whatever animal she had been wrangling earlier, on her cheek. “What are you doing here?”

 

Books. In Malia’s room. In Malia’s _hand_. Stiles resisted the urge to pinch his thigh. “The portrait let me in. What the hell are you doing?”

 

Malia gave him an incredulous look. “I’m _reading_.”

 

“ _You’r_ e reading,” Stiles agreed. “But—why?”

 

There was a fleeting hurt look over her face and Stiles instantly regretted his tone. “Sorry,” Stiles grimaced and scratched the back of his head. “I didn’t mean it like that. I just mean you usually take a more… hands on approach to learning.”

 

Malia came out from the giant stack of books. Stiles was impressed. He had spent many hours amassing research books and scrolls when he had tried to compete with Lydia’s record breaking number of NEWTs in seventh year but even he hadn’t built up quite the same fortress Malia had. And he had only needed to carry them to his study table; he didn’t want to think about how many trips Malia had made up and down the Tower stairs. There had to be several hundred, if not thousand, books in disorganized stacks and piles. Stiles picked up a relatively normal looking volume and the cover shivered in response.

 

“Be careful,” Malia scowled. “That one gets soggy.”

 

Stiles glanced over the cover— _Pleasures of Womynly Love_ —and dropped it like it burned. “Where the hell did you get that?”

 

“The library,” Malia sounded cross and picked it up. The book shivered again and she placed it carefully back on the precarious-looking stack.

 

“Why the hell is there a—“ the book quivered as if just his voice was enough to set it off, “— _an_ _orgasming book_ in the library?”

 

“It’s for Kira.”

 

“Okay, that is a book you definitely don’t show her on the first date,” Stiles gave the rest of the books a wide breadth as he steered Malia towards the small sitting area they had. Malia’s was fairly typical to her style—there was a musky rug and the throws were some kind of animal hide, but it got them out of range of the book that was starting to sigh.

 

“I need to make her notice me,” Malia said pointedly and sat when he pushed her down on a couch and then sat next to her. “She’s doing a research project with her father about synesthesia books.”

 

“What?”

 

“Books that use the senses to help people read,” Malia sounded almost smug that she knew something he didn’t and he had to resist rolling his eyes.

 

“I know what synesthesia books are,” he said through gritted teeth. “I don’t understand why you had to take out all of them at the same time.”

 

“Well,” Malia said slowly as if she were explaining something to a small child. “When Kira needs to check out a book the librarian is going to tell her they’re all out. And when she asks who has them—“

 

“--- She’s going to have to come to you,” Stiles’s ran over her words to finish as her plan clicked in his head. It wasn’t a terrible one, actually, in the grand scheme of terrible plans Malia had already come up it. The only problem he could see was stacked several meters deep and shoulder level high. “Don’t you think she’s going to get suspicious when she sees you have _all_ the books, especially right after she told you what she was studying?”

 

“No,” Malia said. “It’ll show we have common interests.” There was a hint of pride in her voice and Stiles couldn’t stop a fond grin. “Besides,” Malia reached for a stray book on the arm of the couch. “They’re better than real books. Look.”

 

This was some kind of novel, though Stiles had never read it before. He had read plenty of wizarding book as well as Muggle and from what he had experienced they were pretty much the same, though at least Muggles had standard fonts. What Stiles’s wouldn’t have given for Times New Roman when he was doing his studies. However, when Malia opened the book for him, a scent washed over him: pine, moss, and earth. His skin warmed as if he was in the sun.

 

Malia took it back before he could read it. “What was that?”

 

“Sensory charms,” she said. “It stays in the ink really well.” Malia placed it back down and Stiles noticed she was careful to keep the place. There was a kind of longing in her eyes. “It’s like being in the forest again.”

 

Stiles didn’t really know how to respond to that. For all he liked Malia there were just something things between friends that couldn’t be understood. He liked the castle, he liked the flush toilets, the prepared meals and a soft bed. Though Malia didn’t seem unhappy being part of the human world again, there were times when he just couldn’t understand that sadness in her.

 

“Did you hear about the body?” Stiles said to change the subject.

 

Malia blinked and snapped out of her thoughts. “Was she really gorged by a unicorn?”

 

Even though she sometimes didn’t fit in, the rumor mill lost no victim, it seemed. Stiles sighed and settled in to explain.

 

***

 

Derek’s ears twitched back and forth. Everything was so loud. He almost wished he didn’t know how many mice were running around Hogwarts’s walls.

 

“Everything okay?”

 

He tilted his head, though his nearly came to the two women’s shoulders. Braedon gripped her wand, her eyes closed and ready to react should the potion prove a bust. Lydia was more confident but she seemed to be buzzing with impatience as she waited for some kind of answer. For a moment Derek wondered what she was expecting. It wasn’t like he could speak like this.

 

He nodded stiffly and Lydia broke out into a wide grin. “This is amazing. I knew it would work.”

 

“That’s great,” Braedon said dryly. “Yippie. But is it going to work every time?”

 

“Well, the full moon was a few days ago,” Lydia had turned back to her scales. “He’s transforming fully with, how much pain?”

 

At that, Derek’s couldn’t stop from giving her a _Lady, please_ look and she realized her mistake. “I mean, on a scale of one to ten, one being not a lot and ten being excruciating pain. Wag your tail.”

 

That was incredibly undignified and Derek stubbornly swept his bushy tail under his leg. Lydia rolled her eyes but got the point--- the transformation had been painless for the first time in his life. She looked smug as she started to chop up the iguana tails with a steady precise hand. “I’ll get started on the next batch for subject number two.”

 

Derek started to growl but changed it into a small woof, embarrassed at the canine gesture. Subject number two was his sister, Cora, and was the reason Lydia had been so progressive in brewing this potion. The only reason Cora wasn’t subject number one was because Derek wasn’t about to let anything happen to her, no matter Lydia’s brilliance and best intentions.

 

Usually by now Braedon would be bored and doing something terrifying, like sharpen her daggers or practice burning holes in petrified tapestries. But she looked intrigued at the process and was trying to sneak a look at Lydia’s notes. Nothing really got by the other woman and she turned to Braedon with a raised eyebrow. “See something you like?”

 

Braedon raised an eyebrow and Derek rolled his eyes at the way she started at Lydia’s toes and ended at the top of her head with an appreciatory look. Lydia met her eyes square on. “I meant with the potion.”

 

“That too,” Braedon said and shifted her interest back to the table. “This potion works on controlling dark beasts, right? There’s a lot of money in some of those guys. Do you care if I watch?”

 

“It works on bring harmony between two halves of a person,” Lydia frowned. “But why do you care about the prices of the black market?”

 

If Derek had been in his human form sweat would have probably gathered on his brow but Braedon was nothing if not professional. “I work in defense against the dark arts, honey,” she said. “Practical application, street knowledge, you know. Had to get that experience somewhere.”

 

“Yeah,” Lydia said slowly. “As a retired Auror.”

 

Braedon smiled sweetly. “That’s what my resume says.”

 

“Sorry, it just sounded more like you had experience… on the other side of things.”

 

The tension was getting too much for Derek. He barked to get their attention and trotted to the door. Braedon let her hand creep to her wand again but Lydia just nodded. “Be careful none of the kids see you.”

 

Derek huffed in annoyance at the warning and slipped out of the dungeon. Despite Lydia’s words, he knew there were no students in this wing of the castle. Not only was it only accessible by a staircase hidden by the Hale tapestry, he could hear the heartbeat of every living creature within five hundred feet. It was amazing.

 

What was more amazing was that not only could he smell that Lydia was sneaking a blueberry and lemon muffin in her handbag, he was coherent enough to contemplate stealing it. Usually these senses overwhelmed him as he fought to keep the uncontrollable rage at bay. The Wolfsbane potion helped but it had done little more than give him a fighting chance against the beast. It was still a howling, raging thing in side of him and despite the fact he was born with it he could never reason with it. It was wild, inhuman and nothing sort of extreme pain could get it to submit to a human. Now, it was still there, still angry but less murderous and more annoyed that Derek wouldn’t go check out the old cat urine in the corner.

 

It was hard to put into words exactly how Derek felt but if this potion meant no more nightmares about full moons, no more scars from trying to tear out his own flesh, and no more hiding every aspect of his life with Braedon one step behind him to clean up any messes, no more holding back and being so goddamn careful around everyone—

 

Derek caught a familiar scent.

 

“You’ve got to be kidding me!”

 

“Dude, do I look like the kind of guy that likes to give up his free time to spend it with teenage boys?” Derek’s heart skipped a beat—that was Professor Stilinski.

 

“But I’ve got my club after class!”

 

“And I had a standing date in Hogsmeade with a girl a lot lovelier than you, Liam. But if you’re going to take a swing at a kid on my time then I’m going to make you regret it.”

 

“ _He_ tried to hit _me_!”

 

“And Bilbo only wanted a quiet life in the Shire, we all get dealt shit hands.”

 

“Who?”

 

“Don’t worry, kid. You’re copying that book out by hand for your detention. By the time you finish, you’ll be quoting Elvish in your sleep.”

 

“I thought Elvish was an elective course,” the kid, Liam, muttered.

 

Derek barely registered the last part of the conversation. There was only one piece of news he found himself interested in. Stiles, on a date. With a girl. Of course, Derek knew of Stiles’s reputation. He had enough letters from Cora about the Slytherin boy that seemed to be up for anything. For a while, he knew Stiles had some kind of arrangement with the Care of Magical Creature’s professor. During the last full moon he had compromised with the wolf inside of him and spent the nights pacing under Stiles’s window mournful and howling.

 

However, Lydia had a habit of Flooing with a friend in London when she was brewing and Derek was spending hours bored and marking in the hidden dungeon with her. Normally he ignored her because he didn’t care or know any of the places or people she was talking about. But Stiles’s name had popped up a few days ago.

 

“It’s almost sweet,” Lydia had said while she grated some kind of sticky root. “Stiles giving love advice. I give Kira a week before she figures it out.”

 

“A week?” Allison, her friend, had laughed. “You remember when she was in my house right? You thought she was some kind of portrait in the common room, she barely moved from her corner. Even if she does figure it out she’s not going to do anything about it.”

 

“Want to put money on that?” Lydia had asked. “She spent, like, two years doing field research in Tokyo with her mother. She’s come out of her shell.”

 

“Well, for both their sake’s I hope you’re right,” Allison had said. “I wonder what Stiles is going to do now?”

 

Lydia had looked up and Derek snapped his attention back to the badly crumpled parchment in front of him. “I’m sure he’ll find something,” Lydia had said finally. “He always seems to.”

 

Now, it seems, Stiles had. Derek felt like slipping through the tapestry but stopped himself. Even though he was in full control they didn’t know that. It didn’t seem like a good idea to suddenly spring the whole werewolf thing on Stiles, not in front of a student and certainly not before he had a chance to explain. If he even had a reason to explain, now.

 

Their voices faded as they left the hallway and Derek slinked back to the dungeon heavy hearted. While he wouldn’t admit it to another living soul, there had been another reason for his willingness to act as a test subject. He wouldn’t subject someone to dealing with his curse, not the Bite and not the responsibility of knowing. Deaton was one thing, Braedon was paid for her time. Lydia had sought him out. But to ask someone to commit their life to the dangers and prejudice being a werewolf carried? He wouldn’t do that, and couldn’t do that to someone he was supposed to care about. Especially not after Kate.

 

But with this new potion—

 

Derek shoved aside any thought of Stiles.

 

Lydia was putting a stopper on a vial of the dark blue potion. She gave Derek a passing glance when he came into the room but he saw Braedon sweep the room for any signs of trouble. “I’d say it’s about time to call your sister.”

 


	7. In a Dark Dark Forest

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long! Work has been killer! Then I deleted the first three thousand words of this fic in a fit of anger. However, I think this works better and it's always fun to write a certain Hale. Let me know what you think!

Liam and Brett barely made it through to chapter three before Stiles let them go. Partly it was because he could see their hands cramping up on the cheap Bic pens he forced them to write with and partly because if he left now he could still catch Allison before she left. The two boys were too tired to make any barbed comments at each other when the left and Stiles left the castle as soon as they were gone.

 

It was dark already but he had his wand at the ready as he walked. He found himself moving more briskly than ever before but every dark shadow was making him jump. Violet hadn’t exactly been a friend but she had been fully human. Not that he condoned the killing of werewolves but when it had looked like the murders were hate crimes, Stiles had kept a stranglehold on the belief that he was safe. After all, the hunters had no reason to take him out. But now with Violet’s face still etched in his skull it felt like there was a target on his back.

 

The sky was clear and the stars were bright enough to light the long path but that light somehow made it worse. The shadows were longer, deeper and darker. Stiles kept imagining someone in a Freddy mask jumping out, bloody chainsaws ripping through the air. That was ridiculous, if someone had a chainsaw then he would obviously hear them coming. But the fear stuck in the back of his brain and he found himself flinching at every rustle.

 

After about twenty minutes he could finally start to see the lights of Hogsmeade. His feet started to moved faster in anticipation. Maybe it was because he was distracted by the lights and the vision of how warm and safe the Three Broomsticks would be with Allison and Scott already there waiting for him, or maybe it was because while the stars helped they were no match for the sun, but either way, something in the path caught his foot and he found himself going down hard on the grassy path. He threw out his hands to break his fall and realized too late that meant losing his tight grip on his wand.

 

“Fuck,” he swore, kicking at his robes as they tangled around his feet. His heartbeat was suddenly too loud and he felt like it was drowning out the sounds of any would-be attackers. He forced himself to calm down and started to feel around the grass for his wand.

 

There was a rustle in the woods to his left. His heart started to race and he cursed more, running his hands in a wider sweep. A twig snapped and Stiles had vivid images of Jackson coming around his cut up corpse, his father coming down to the Ministry only this time instead of making fun of the flying memos and flamboyant robes he was identifying Stiles’s body. He scrambled frantically and with a sob of relief his fingers closed on a thick piece of wood.

 

“ _Lumos_!” he pointed the wand at the woods frantically and his zeal lit up the path so suddenly he was temporarily blinded.

 

“Oh my God!” a female voice shouted out in pain and Stiles forced his watering eyes to open. There was an outline of someone through the blinding light and he quickly ended the spell. He blinked until he could make out a familiar face frantically blinking and rubbing at her eyes.

 

“Kira?”

 

“Stiles?” she said back in much the same tone. “What are you doing here?”

 

“What am I doing here— what are _you_ doing here?” Stiles said indignantly. “Haven’t you heard about the murders? What if you’re next, huh? How are you doing to defend yourself?”

 

Kira raised an eyebrow at him and slowly shifted her eyes until they rested on the giant, glowing sword in her right hand. Stiles blinked. “I think I’ll be okay,” she said dryly.

 

“Okay, well, yes, I guess you would be,” Stiles recovered. “But that doesn’t explain why you’re out here.”

 

“I’m out for a walk,” there was something defensive in her tone, her whole stance really. Her sword really was glowing, a soft orange light emanating from it like a _lumos_ spell. It cast shadows over her face and she seemed almost like a different person, someone much older. However, she didn’t look ready to attack him anytime soon.

 

“I’m meeting some friends in Hogsmeade,” he said finally. “You know, it isn’t safe out here, even if you do have Obi Wan's light saber."

 

She looked confused. “I got this in Japan from a guy named Kenji.”

 

“Never mind,” Stiles sighed. “Either way, if you wanted a walk you should have stayed in the castle.”

 

“I’ll remember for next time,” she nodded but Stiles got the feeling she was just agreeing with him to placid him. He frowned. He hated it when people lied to him and he could easily see through her nervous smile and too wide grin. Every sense was poking at him that something else was going on and despite the fact he had been so eager to get to Hogsmeade only a few minutes ago he found himself reluctant to leave without finding the answer.

 

“Maybe we should stick together,” Stiles said.

 

“I promise, I’ll be okay.”

 

“Hey, I believe you,” Stiles raised his hands in surrender. “But I’m looking out for me here. Offensive magic was never my forte and that thing looks like it would take out something a lot better than a badly cast Jelly Leg Jinx.”

 

There, he had her. He had to hide a smug smile. Maybe she could weasel her way out of being protected but she couldn’t exactly abandon Stiles if he asked for her help. Reluctantly she nodded and they set off for the village, this time the sword lighting the path.

 

“So, Japan, huh?” Stiles gestured to the sword to break the nervous silence.

 

“I studied there after I graduated from Hogwarts.”

 

Stiles started. He tried to bring up any images of Kira as a student, at a Quidditch match, in the Great Hall, hell, even in the library but his mind was blank. When he looked at her she was giving him a crooked smile.

 

“I was a bit of a wallflower.”

 

“What house were you in?”

 

“Gryffindor, actually,” she looked almost like she was flushing. “I was in your year.”

 

“I don’t remember you at all,” Stiles couldn’t help but blurt out. “I mean, not even the Sorting Hat Ceremony!”

 

“I was there,” she sighed. “I was just last. And it was only Cora and I in Gryffindor for the girls that year until Allison transferred in sixth year.”

 

Stiles remembered Scott being called. He definitely remembered Lydia being called. But he had been on pins and needles when his own name had been called, not even the Hat able to makes heads or tails of his first name. When the Hat announced Slytherin he had been too devastated as he had been lead numbly to the table as far away from Scott’s as possible. He didn’t remember a single name called after his.

 

“It’s fine,” she said. “I just hung out with my dad. A lot.” She frowned. “Too much. That’s why when I graduated my parents made me do this study abroad in Japan. They wanted me to make friends.”

 

“Did you?”

 

“Uh, kind of,” she smiled. She swung her sword in a loop over their heads and Stiles ducked instinctively. “I met the guy who made me this.”

 

“Did you behead him too, Jesus,” Stiles glowered at her. “First rule of friendship, don’t swing swords at people’s heads!”

 

She looked a little chastised but smiled. “Does this mean we’re friends?”

 

Stiles wondered who the hell had decided to make him protector of lost, awkward misfits but sighed. “Yes. So long as you take out whatever ax murderer is going around killing people before they get to me.”

 

“Deal,” Kira said.

 

By the time they reached Hogsmeade, Stiles had already wormed out Kira’s favourite drink (“Pumpkin Juice, but not the regular kind. You know, the Pumpkin Citrus one that comes out in the summer.” “That’s disgusting, no one likes that.”), her childhood dream job (“I really wanted to draw Marvin the Muggle comics.”), and that she, Cora and Allison may have been dorm mates but they had rarely hung out for most of their time at Hogwarts.

 

“Cora had other friends and Allison was just glamourous,” Kira said, her steps getting shorter as they approached the familiar broom stick triangle over the door. Stiles could practically smell the Butterbeer. “I mean, she was from Beauxbatons and a Quidditch star,” there was a touch of longing in her voice. “She was nice to me but I doubt she’ll remember who I am.”

 

“Dude, you lived together for two years. She’ll know who you are,” Stiles quickly stepped behind her and pushed her shoulders with both hands, propelling her towards the door and pushing her head first into the delightful warmth.

 

The smells and sounds settled over Stiles like a snug blanket. He couldn’t help but grin as he spotted Scott and Allison in a corner booth, their heads almost touching as they talked. Stiles could feel the tension in Kira’s shoulders and he only pushed harder.

 

Scott and Allison didn’t look up until Stiles had practically shoved Kira over them and they jumped guiltily. “Stiles!” Scott said his eyes narrowing. “I didn’t think you were coming.”

 

“Yeah, well,” Stiles decided to ignore the subtle hint as he shoved in next to his friend. “How was I going to turn down a chance to see my favourite girl. Friend. I mean, favourite girl-type, shaped friend. Hey, you all remember Kira, right?”

 

Scott looked at her blankly but Allison smiled at her. “Kira! It’s been so long, hi.” She stood and pulled Kira into a polite hug but Allison was nothing if not genuine. She sat again, moving down the bench to make room so Kira couldn’t run away without being rude. She sat next to Allison gingerly. “How have you been? I didn’t know you knew Stiles.”

 

“We just ran into each other on the way here,” Kira said, wringing her hands in her lap nervously. “But, uh, I’m still around the castle a bit to do some research.”

 

“You always did like your books,” Allison said fondly. She turned to Scott and Stiles with a grin on her face. “Let me tell you about the time this one borrowed so many books I thought we were going to be crushed if the Tower swayed in the breeze too hard.”

 

Despite the strong hints Scott kept on dropping, Stiles ignored him and ordered one drink after another until there was a pleasant thrumming in his blood. Finally, Allison excused herself to the washroom and half dragged Kira after her. Stiles braced for the lecture he knew was coming.

 

“Dude, what the hell? You knew we rescheduled for tomorrow when Lydia’s free. Jackson and the Aurors don’t want people just walking around after dark now.”

 

“Oh, yeah,” Stiles fiddled with his tankard. “Well, I mean I just wanted to see you guys.”

 

Scott narrowed his eyes. “You know perfectly well we just got a ground cable to the cottage and I've got high speed. You could have called in."

 

"I read an article that all this virtual contact is ruining our human connection," Stiles brushed him off. "Come on, you can't tell me you'd rather see me on a screen then in person."

 

"I'd rather not see you dead," Scott said flatly and Stiles flinched. The tavern was mostly empty but Scott lowered his voice. "Come on, something's wrong. You've always been a little... eccentric but this is pushing it, even for you. What is going on with you?"

 

Stiles felt something mean twist in his gut. Scott was his best friend, his brother, but it didn't mean the guy had a free pass to tell Stiles when and when he wasn't acting like himself. What did Scott know? He had his life, his friends here in Hogsmeade, Allison-- this was everything he had wanted since they had been six and spent afternoons in Scott's backyard making flowers grow. Stiles had never felt like a freak around Scott when they had used their magic, not knowing at the time what it was. The rest of the kids at school had been horrible and the only times Stiles felt happy was when he and Scott worked on that big secret the both of them had. When they had gotten their acceptance letters, hand delievered by an awkwardly excitable man in a three piece, double breasted suit, it had seemed like everything would fall into place. 

 

And it had. For Scott. But Stiles had continued to be the freak and try as he could there was nothing he could do to banish the part of him that loved his father and all the things that came with that world. He was tired, tired of trying, tired of fighting. He looked at Scott and shoved aside the jealously that rose in him when he saw the clear, strong confidence on his friend's face. 

 

“Nothing.”

 

“Stiles.”

 

“It’s nothing.”

 

“Hey,” Scott lowered his voice, his tone deepening as he focused his attention on Stiles. “You know you can tell me anything, right?”

 

Could he? He could tell Scott some things, like how the Slytherins were planning to prank the other houses by relabeling all the books on the Goblin wars right before their research essays were due or switching  out the Quidditch pitch reservation schedule. But others, like how when he had been in fourth year some of the older years had taken objection to how he often sat with the Gryfinndor at lunch at a no-man's land table near the Hufflepuffs and tossed his essays on the fire for 'kindling', or when he went to bed only to find his Star Wars figures beheaded and tucked into his sheets, those where things he wouldn't burden his friend with. 

 

Scott was still watching him, his question suspended between them like it was caught on something. Stiles grinned and patted Scott on the shoulder, the moves automatic and easy to follow after years of practice. “Of course, buddy. I’ll always come to you, you know that.”

 

He got a look that clearly said Scott knew he was lying but before he could try to wiggle his way out of it, a commotion at a door grabbed their attention.

 

Two men burst through the door, the heavy wood hitting the stone wall with a boom. More than that, though, the state of the men kept Stiles and Scott’s attention. They were both tall and probably handsome but it was hard to tell under the layer of blood. One guy looked to be about Stiles and Scott’s age and had dark skin and broad shoulders that would have taken up the door frame. At least it would if he wasn’t hunched over keeping the older man on his feet.

 

“Jesus Christ, can’t I go twenty-four hours without seeing someone die?” Stiles squeezed his eyes shut but Scott prodded him until he moved out of the booth. The Three Broomsticks wasn’t crowded tonight so they were the only patrons in the place. Scott ducked under the bloodied man’s other shoulder and between him and the black man they helped him to a chair. Stiles took a bundle of fresh towels the sole waitress pressed at him over the bar before she sprinted out of the room. Stiles scowled at her back but quickly brought the towels over.

 

The older man was decidedly good looking under the blood. He had a square jaw and a wide mouth. His hair was brown and pushed back in a slight widow’s peak and his eyes were ice blue. He smiled flirtatiously as Stiles pressed a towel over the darkest stain on his shirt. It was a clean cut, like someone had cut into the guy like butter and Stiles could feel the skin and muscles shift under his hands. The other man didn’t look injured but he sat heavily in the other chair. He was attractive as well but he seemed to exude annoyance from every line of his body, as if his partner’s injuries were just an inconvenience.

 

“Are you okay?” Scott asked the younger man, his eyes making a sweep. “What happened?”

 

“Just look after this idiot,” the guy said and gestured to the older man who winced when Stiles pressed hard. “Do you know you have a psychopath living in the woods?”

 

“Really?” Stiles said sarcastically and grimaced when he saw the towel was starting to soak through. He grabbed another and laid it over to keep his hands from coming in contact with the blood. He had to shift to kneel on the ground to keep steady pressure. “You don’t say. I thought all those corpses were lawn decorations.”

 

“Stiles,” Scott chided. He turned to the younger man. “Did someone attack you? Did you see who they were?”

 

Before either of them could answer the waitress came back with Jackson, half awake and struggling to get dressed in Muggle pants and a shirt, behind her. “Don’t answer that,” Jackson pointed at the guy like he was an Unspeakable that was about to crack. “Wait- I’ve got my Note Taker Quill here somewhere—“

 

“Don’t worry,” the older man finally spoke, cutting off Jackson easily. His voice was low but somehow honey smooth. “We won’t be reporting this to the Aurors. You are an Auror, correct?”

 

Jackson paused from where he was frantically patting his pockets and raised an eyebrow. “You’re not reporting this?"

 

“It’s not that bad,” the man shrugged one shoulder but grimaced. Stiles snorted when he felt the wound on his side ooze a little more, and then had to swallowed back some bile. The man smiled wider. “You’ve got strong hands.”

 

Stiles grinned back before he could stop himself. This guy was older than he usually went for but he had to admire someone who hit on someone who was holding the sliced edges of his skin closed. He could hear Jackson gagging behind him.

 

“Most people come here to drink a pint not donate one,” Scott said.

 

“Peter,” the younger man pressed his lips together and looked at the man with a long suffering gaze.

 

The man, Peter, rolled his eyes. “What exactly do you want me to say? Some girl got the drop on you? It’s your reputation I’m out to protect, by the way. Body guards tend to get work by having clients survive for references, Vernon.”

 

“She didn’t get the drop on me,” Vernon grumbled. “I had it under control. You would have been fine if you hadn’t tried to run.”

 

“Excuse me for my self-preservation,” Peter said under his breath. He smiled at Stiles. “You know, I never got your name. I usually like to get the names of people who get on their knees for me.”

 

Scott coughed like he was trying to cover a laugh and Stiles heard Jackson grumbling. Before he could volley back, however, Allison and Kira returned.

 

“Oh my God,” Allison rushed forward. “We were only gone for ten minutes!”

 

“Here,” Kira stepped up to Stiles and was digging through her robes. “I’ve got some herbs that should stop the bleeding.”

 

Before she could get them, however, the man straightened and Stiles almost scolding him as he lost pressure on the wound. To his surprise, when the man pulled his hand and the towels away, the bleeding had already stopped. It looked not exactly healed over but he was certain it hadn't looked so shallow before. He glanced up and Peter grinned crookedly at him. “I’m a fast healer.”

 

“That looks terrible,” Stiles dropped the stained towels to the ground and used the table to lever himself to his feet. “A girl did that?”

 

“Hey,” Allison said mildly.

 

“I mean, a _human_ did that?” Stiles amended. “They must have had some kind of weapon unless it was Edward Scissorhands or something.”

 

Scott snorted but the rest ignored his Muggle reference as usual. Peter looked mildly confused but didn’t comment. Instead, he twisted to look at the wound himself.  “She did have a weapon, knife or dagger or something. I was too busy trying to not get impaled or I would have made a mould for you. This was a lucky swipe. I’m usually a lot better on my feet,” he grinned at Stiles. “And even better off of them.”

 

“Okay, that’s all I want to hear,” Jackson said loudly. “I don’t really care if you want to report it or not, I’m going to have to ask you some questions. There’s been too many bodies turning up lately and you’re lucky you’re not one of them. This is the best lead we’ve got and I’m not about to let you two get away.” Someone, Stiles suspected the poor waitress who had fled into the back again, had given him a quill and a roll of parchment. He sat down at the other side of the table and rolled his sleeves, a habit they all had from childhood to keep their sleeves out of the ink. “Peter and Vernon, right? Can you describe your attacker?”

 

“Call me Boyd,” the younger man grumbled. “And we didn’t get a good look.”

 

Jackson looked at Peter and the man gave him a mocking salute.

 

“Nothing?” Jackson didn’t put down the quill but he did lean back. “You expect me to believe she got close to enough to look at your appendix but not close enough for a description. Height, build, hair colour?” Anything?”

 

“It was dark,” Boyd said flatly. “We Apperated in the Forest. We meant to get here in the middle of the village but,” Boyd side-eyed his companion, “Peter miscalculated.”

 

“It’s been a very long time since I’ve been here,” Peter sighed dramatically. “How long are you going to hold that against me?” Boyd’s silence stretched and Peter rolled his eyes. “You’re worse than my nephew.”

 

“Vernon Boyd,” Jackson ignored Peter and started to write. “And Mr…”

 

“Let’s just leave it at Peter,” Peter said, shifted in his chair as he leaned back. Stiles couldn’t help but try to look at the wound, his shirt was still sliced open, but Peter subtly drew his robes over his side. He seemed to be moving better, not wincing anymore, but Stiles had been up close and personal. That hadn’t been the kind of thing someone just recovered from. He would have sworn on oath that there had been bone—he had thought for sure that they would have been half way to the city with a dozen Med-Wizards by now. But now Peter looked fine, a little pale but even the colour seemed to be returning to his face. Stiles studied his face closer. If the man noticed the scrutiny he didn’t react except to throw another heavy lidded glance at him.

 

This seemed to be the end of Jackson’s patience. The quill snapped in his hand and ink leaked over his fingers but he didn’t flinch. “You must be in shock,” his jaw was so tight it looked like it hurt for him to speak. “We can Floo the hospital, maybe when you’re feeling better we can continue—“

 

“That must be it,” Peter cut him off, grinning when Jackson turned a new shade of red at his flippant tone. “Some sleep, a little relaxation. Say, you wouldn’t know nice soft bed around here would you?” He directed the question as Stiles but before he could answer he was once again cut off.

 

“We’re in an inn,” Boyd said in a disgusted tone. “Wait here.”

 

As Boyd went in search of the waitress to book rooms, Scott hauled Stiles to his feet. Peter watched him with a grin that Stiles found hard to look away from. He was forced to, however, when Scott shoved him into a corner and blocked his view.

 

“What?” Stiles snapped.

 

“I don’t like that guy.”

 

Stiles sighed and glanced back. Peter wiggled his fingers and Stiles started to mentally count the days since he and Malia had broken their arrangement. Sure, covered in blood and several years older than him was a little creepy for a one night stand but there was an emptiness gnawing at him and he knew for a fact something meaningless would chase it away for at least the night. It was like an itch that could never be fully scratch and it was hard to explain that kind of thing to a guy as content with his life as Scott. He sighed when he looked up. Scott was giving him that look, the look that said he could see right into Stiles’s brain and he did not approve of it at all. With a frustrated groan, he looked away from Peter and gave Scott the angriest look he could muster.

 

“I’ve got to walk Kira back,” he said, daring Scott to call him out. Wisely, Scott kept quiet but he saw the relief on his friend’s face. “Don’t give me that look. I wasn’t going to do anything.”

 

“You two should head back now,” Scott said seriously. “Or you can crash at my place, I’ve got the couch—“

 

Stiles had spent enough nights on that couch to grimace. “Don’t worry. I’m sure that whoever is out there got their bloodlust quota for the night,” he gestured to Peter. “Besides, Kira’s got that sword. If we run into them I think we might solve the Auror’s problem.”

 

Scott didn’t look reassured. They went back to the group where Boyd was handing a key to Peter and Allison was talking with Jackson in a low voice. Stiles told Kira they should be off and  Jackson looked up with a pinched expression.

 

“You’re not going out there.” Jackson looked resigned but Allison had a satisfied expression on her face.

 

“You offering?” Stiles said just to see Jackson frown. He elbowed Kira. “See? You’re going to make friends all around tonight.”

 

“Come on.” Jackson led Stiles and Kira out of the Three Broomsticks, both getting in a hasty good bye as they ran to keep up with him. The village was quiet despite the exciting events in the inn and Stiles was jealous of the way everyone else seemed to be able to sleep through the terrifying parts.  Stiles shivered and found he had to concentrate as to not trip in the dark. He wondered if Jackson was going to walk them all the way back to Hogwarts but instead they stopped abruptly in front of Honeydukes. Jackson took out a large gold key and whispered something when he inserted it into the lock. Stiles strained to hear but Jackson gave him a dirty look before he let them into the store.

 

“Sweet tooth," he said with fake sympathy. "You're not supposed to use your Auror skeleton keys for things like this, you know."

 

“I’m going to show this to you but you have to keep it quiet,” Jackson didn’t turn on the lights but instead moved through the dark shop without hitting anything. Stiles was surprised when Kira seemed to be able to do the same. He took three steps and promptly slammed his shin on a shelf. He cursing, hopping on one leg as he rubbed the skin and then hobbled after them.

 

Stiles wasn’t sure what Jackson was telling them but it became clear when he got to the storeroom. Jackson had lit up his wand and was lifting a heavy trap door on the floor. Stiles peered over Kira’s shoulder; the passage looked cramped and covered in cobwebs. She shrank back a little and Stiles was glad he wasn’t the only one feeling trepidation.

 

“This leads back to the castle,” Jackson said as he stepped back. “It’s dark but it’ll be safer then walking by the woods.” He glanced at them and sighed when he saw their reserved faces. “It’s fine, I've used it a million times.”

 

“O-okay,” Kira said and started down the stairs. Stiles wasn’t about to let her go alone so he grumbled and pulled out his wand to light his own _lumos_ spell.

 

“Stilinski,” Jackson stopped him right before he could duck fully into the tunnel. Stiles stopped and looked up. “Don’t leave the castle again, alright? We don’t know what’s causing the murders but both victims do have one thing in common.”

 

“Really?” Stiles perked up. He could heard Kira shuffling impatiently below but he couldn’t pass up a chance to get some real information.

 

“They were all in Slytherin,” Jackson said and the bottom dropped out of Stiles’s stomach. “It might be nothing but if body number three is the same—well, then we’ll know.”

 

“So you're expecting a body number three?” Stiles knew his voice sounded strained. “That’s reassuring coming from my government. You guys using my tax dollars on your sensitivity training?”

 

“I don’t want body number 3 but unless we get a better lead then I don’t know what’s going to happen,” Jackson said harshly. “And as annoying as you are I don’t want to see you dead.”

 

“I’m glad we’re both on the same page.” Jackson was refusing to meet his eyes but nonetheless Stiles felt oddly touched. He went the rest of the way into the tunnel.

 

Kira had drawn her sword and it was lighting up the dusty walls better than his wand. Still, he kept it out and lit up as they started to walk. It was small and they both found themselves sneezing as they walked but Stiles had to admit that it was a better idea than walking above the ground. It looked familiar and soon enough he recognized the heart pattern on one of the walls. He paused; this had been where Lydia had opened it into a staircase that had led into the woods. Kira stopped too and tilted her head in curiousity.

 

“What is it?”

 

“Nothing,” Stiles said and dropped his hand. It was easier to not say anything than to unsay something later and, besides, telling Kira about the tunnel wasn’t vital. “So, tonight was exciting.”

 

“Yeah,” Kira laughed a little, her voice cracking the tension that had hung over them. “Does that kind of thing happen a lot?”

 

“Lately, yes,” Stiles said a little darkly but cleared his throat. “I like seeing Allison, though. She’s always busy with Quidditch.”

 

Kira nodded and hesitated before saying in a quiet tone, “I used to have a big crush on her.”

 

Stiles didn’t know where the confession came from but he had to take a minute to let the implication sink in. It at least boded well for Malia, he clamped down on the hopeful thought. If Kira liked girls than at least Malia wasn’t wasting her time. He wondered how much he could ask without spooking her but his silence must have gone on too long.

 

“I’m sorry,” her voice was rushed and her footsteps sped up to match. “I know she’s with Scott and they’re both your friends, Merlin, I just made everything really uncomfortable so please just forget everything I said, ever.”

 

“Wait!” Stiles jogged a few steps to catch up with her. He had to grab her elbow and she stopped. “Jeez, don’t worry about it. Everyone crushed on Allison. Trust me, I was there when she transferred too. I had to sit through two years of terrible poetry from Scott.”

 

“Oh,” she said quietly. “I don’t, anymore. I mean, on Allison.”

 

“Good,” Stiles let her go and they started to walk again at a more normal pace. “She’s great but I’m pretty sure her and Scott are glued together. I’d hate for you to be pining silently or something.” She laughed, grateful at the joke and Stiles grew brave enough to prod deeper. “There’s not anyone now, is there? That you’re seeing.”

 

Even in the dim light he could see her flush. “Stiles, I, um, I’m flattered but I don’t really, uh, like boys in that way—“

 

Alright, so Malia _really_ had nothing to worry about in that regard. “Okay, good to know,” Stiles said when it didn’t look like she was going to stop talking on her own. “But then there’s no girl you’re seeing now, right?”

 

“No,” her face was bright red but at least she didn’t look upset anymore. “No one currently.”

 

They were quiet after that but it was comfortable and when they reached the end of the tunnel Stiles’s feet were aching. It was easier to get out of the statue in the castle than it had been to get in. Kira’s rooms were in the opposite direction so they parted. Stiles felt tired but at least he had new, positive information for Malia.

 

He went down the quiet hallways, his mind buzzing and preoccupied so he almost missed the faint sounds from a classroom. He paused, not wanting any more excitement for the night but his responsibilities winning out. It was well after hours. If there were students out of bed he would probably just escort them back to their dormitories with a warning. It was too dangerous to just ignore it, especially with what was happening outside the walls.Maybe it was the night catching up to him or maybe it was just that same itch under his skin that didn't seem to have gone away, but Stiles pressed forward. 

 

It was the Defense Against the Dark Arts classrooms, which wasn’t so bad. At least it wasn’t the dungeons which could sometimes turn explosive or Transfigurations where left over classwork in the room sometimes spontaneously changed back into its original shape. Once he had sat on a chair and mid conversation it reverted back into a disgruntled pig. Tired of fumbling with the _lumos_ spell, he quickly lit the candles on the walls. The room was almost instantly bright and something dark and furry flinched at the front of the room.

 

Stiles nearly ran from the room but kept still. If it was one of Braedon’s monsters escaped from its cage then he had to deal with it before a student ran into it. It had ducked under a desk, flinching away from the light. Stiles steeled his stomach. How bad could it be if it was afraid of a little candlelight?

 

He went forward until he could see the only portion of the beast that hadn’t managed to squeeze under the desk. Whatever it was had tried its best but the furry tail stuck out like some kind of tag.

 

“Come on out,” Stiles tried for calm and soothing but was pretty sure it was coming out terrified and pleading for his life. “Don’t worry, I’m not going to hurt you—Jesus!”

 

It was a dog, though not any kind of dog Stiles had ever seen. It was big, nearly to his hip probably if it were to straighten up from where it was crouched on its belly. It had sharp blue eyes that seemed to be mapping all the weak points on his body as he moved. Stiles froze as he caught sight of the teeth. Its fangs looked thicker than he hands and sharp enough to snap them off his hands if it wanted to. Stiles wondered if it was too late to back out of the room but the dog was already moving towards him curiously.

 

The only reason Stiles didn’t run was because he was certain the dog could take him out without flinching. It approached him cautiously enough and sniffed at his hands. Stiles kept them clenched in case it decided to try some finger snacks but eventually he extended one and for inspection. The dog smelled him delicately before sneezing, sitting back on its haunches satisfied. Stiles let out a deep breath.

 

“Okay, so you’re friendly. Good to know.” Stiles peered around the dog’s neck but there was no collar. It didn’t look vicious now as it watched him with intelligent eyes. It must be Braedon’s, or a pet a student was harboring. Dogs weren’t on the approved list but that list didn’t stop students from smuggling in everything from ferrets to a fire breathing cockatiel last year. Stiles had nearly lost his eyebrows to that one. Either way, he couldn’t leave it in the classroom for a student to stumble across. Friendly as it was, students weren’t known for their patience and common sense. If it was the kind of dog to take offense to prodding fingers they could have trouble on their hands.

 

He would take it to Malia’s, he decided. She was the Creature’s professor, after all. If there was something strange about the dog then she could handle it better that Stiles could. He took a few steps towards the door and beckoned the dog.

 

“Come on,” Stiles patted his thigh encouragingly. The dog gave him a look that said _Really_? Stiles could have sworn he saw it raise an eyebrow. With a disgusted snort, the dog ducked down a different row of desks and was out the door before Stiles could chase it.

 

“Crap,” he quickly extinguished the lights in the room and ran to the door. The dog was gone. He entertained the idea of looking for it but his body reminded him how tired it was. It was probably just an escaped pet, the exhausted centre of his brain reasoned. It was probably on its way home. He could alert the teachers tomorrow and Malia could track it down. It would be fine to let it go for now. He ignored the niggling in the back of his brain and sternly told himself that the next time he saw Peter he would make sure Scott wasn't there to block him. It wouldn't be good but at least it would be something and that was all Stiles could hope for right now. 

 

He stumbled to his rooms and was asleep before he could take off his shoes.  


	8. Lost and not found

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry everyone! It's been a crazy few weeks involving international family visits and a death :( I'll post as I can but this fic isn't abandoned.

It was no small work to climb the Three Broomsticks without thumbs. Derek could only make it to the second story because of a tree with low branches and even then it was only luck that room had been unoccupied. He followed the scent to the fourth floor unhindered and paused by the heavy oak door. While silencing spells kept things from leaking out to human ears, they were old enough that he could hear the voices if he pressed right up against the wood.

“It’s healing nicely.”

“Of course it is,” Peter sounded snappish. “I took my Wolfsbane potion this week.”

The second man in the room, Boyd, Derek remembered from the few times he had met Braedon’s colleague, moved to the other side of the room. “Fine. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

"You're not seriously going," Peter's voice was flat and unimpressed. "We were just attacked by some sword-welding idiot. What if they decide to come back for round two?" Boyd made no audible answer but he must have made some kind of reply because Peter made a disappointed cluck of his tongue. “I’ll have you know that’s going to get back to your superiors.”

Derek slunk away from the door as Boyd went to open it but there was hardly time or space to hide the bulk of his wolf form in the hallway. Boyd paused, almost startled but recovered quickly when he saw him. “Don’t worry. You’ll have company if you need a shoulder to cry on.”

Derek bore a fang to let Boyd exactly what he thought of someone, especially Peter, who would try to cry on him but the other man just left the door open as he went to his own room across the hall. Peter had come to the door and the look on his face was worth the trek to Hogsmeade.

“Derek?”

Derek pushed past him into the door, looking around to make sure they were actually alone. Peter closed the door, his face satisfyingly shocked. Derek resisted the urge to sniff around more thoroughly. He had smelled Peter all over Stiles but there was nothing of the other man in this room. He knew Peter’s reputation as well as he knew Stiles’s and even though Stiles had said he was meeting a girl he had still worried. When he was finished he looked back at Peter who had seemed to have recovered.

“So, it works then,” his voice was calm but there was an excited edge to it. He had been waiting a long time for news like this. Braedon must have contacted Boyd at the same time she had told Erica to bring Cora and Derek wasn’t entirely surprised he had beaten the girls here. “Did it hurt? How long can you hold it? Is it hard to control?”

Derek ignored him and reached a hind leg to get at an itch behind his shoulder, grinning with his teeth when he saw Peter’s frustration mounting. Though Peter was one of the last members of his family it didn’t mean he liked him. Those days were in the past. He sighed when Peter started to grind his teeth. Soon, though, he knew the pleasure he got from tormenting his uncle would be outweighed by how insufferable the man could be when he didn't get what he wanted.

Derek trotted lazily to the ancient changing screen set up on the room’s corner. He transformed back, still relishing the ease his bones changed as they snapped between melting fur and twisting sinew. Lydia had told him about the numbing agents in the potions but all Derek cared about was the yellowed and blacken claws shrank to pink fingernails without the urge to tear into his own flesh.

He took a set of robes from Peter’s chest and put it on before stepping out. The biggest problem Lydia hadn’t been able to overcome was transforming with robes or even underwear. However, it wasn’t like Derek hadn’t spent a good part of his youth making sure he was somewhere secluded when the moon went down. The risk of public nudity was a small price to pay as far as he was concerned.

Peter had only been dressed in Muggle pants and a white button shirt when Derek had come in and he saw that instead of dressing for bed he was starting to change back into outer robes. The shirt was still open and Derek caught sight of a nasty scab that ran from the top of his ribs to nearly his chest. He wanted to know who had the gall to put it there (and maybe shake their hand or get them a fruit basket) but held his tongue.

“What are you doing?” Derek narrowed his eyes as Peter pulled a thicker shirt on. Peter just quirked an eyebrow at him and didn’t pause.

“Going to the castle. Getting my potion,” his tone left off the implied obviously.

“It’s not ready yet,” Derek said shortly. He wondered how difficult it would be to take the man out. Peter was stronger, faster, and more experience in scrapes even though he was the first to try and talk his way out of a corner. The man was an Alpha and more than that he was Derek’s Alpha. It was hard enough to stand up against normal things like where they were going to vacation or who got the last steak at dinner. Taking the job at Hogwarts had been as much about escape from under his uncle's thumb as it had been been being Lydia's live-in Patient X.

However, something inside of him was begging to ignore all of that and just see what a sucker punch to Peter's ribs would do. His hands curled into fists, a strange feeling of power and confidence coming over him as he watched Peter straighten his collar. He clamped down on it; the Three Broomsticks was not really the place for a dominance show down.

Instead, he shifted on his feet to clear his thoughts and focus back on Peter who was now pulling on his boots.

“You’re not chasing cats up a tree,” Peter said, the sarcasm heavy in his voice. “It looks ready.”

“There are side effects,” Derek winced as his voice came out too loud. To his amazement, Peter stopped with only one boot on.

“You’re lying,” Peter said but there was a question tacked on to it. Derek held his gaze and shrugged. Peter set his other boot on the ground and looked Derek over as if he was trying to read into his brain . “What kind of side effects?”

“Nausea,” Derek said the first thing he could think. “Dizziness. Numbness in fingers.” He wiggled his hands in front of his face as if that would demonstrate something. Peter looked skeptical, which was fair since Derek was lying through his teeth, but if Derek knew one thing about his uncle it was that the man was cautious when it came to his own skin.

“I can deal with a little numbness,” Peter said but he didn’t reach for his boot.

“That’s good to know,” Derek agreed. “How do you feel about the impotence?”

“Impotence?” Peter reared up horrified and Derek saw him flick his eyes down to somewhere around Derek’s pelvis before snapping back to his face. Derek held his gaze stonily.

This wasn’t Derek’s strength, this lying and misdirection, but it was a necessary evil. Peter was his uncle and family had to stick together, especially in a family like theirs, but it didn’t mean he was going to trust him. The last time he had trusted Peter it had ended with Laura dead, Kate’s body still missing somewhere in France, and Peter locked up in a ward at St. Mungo’s. The idea of Peter being able to just shift at any time-- well, Derek didn't think the world was quite ready for that yet.

Peter kicked off his other boot and Derek let himself relax a fraction. “Well, then, if you weren’t here to offer me a miracle then why the hell did you come?”

“I don’t trust you,” Derek said. “And I don’t like that you’re this close to my place of work. And so many underage children.”

Peter threw him an exaggerated eye roll at the last comment. “Thank you, but I require my conquests to have a few seasons under their belts.”

“Good to know the students as safe from something,” Derek said dryly. “I’ll be back later.”

“What? Do you think I’m going to get up to something disreputable?” Peter smirked. “I plan on waiting patiently for your Potions Master.”

“Patient?” Derek repeated. “That’s not a word I would use with you.”

“I can be very patient.”

“The last time you left the manor and didn’t have something to do Braedon found you drunk in some magical cupboard in Knockturn Alley.”

“One time—“

“The time before that it was in France and you were with some kind of Muggle prostitute—“

“Well, that time I did find something to do, didn’t I?”

Derek gritted his teeth. “It would be safer if you went home.”

“Do you mean safe from me or for me? Because there's maniac running around the Forest cutting up people so I hardly think my presence changes the stranger danger level.”

"Stay out of sight at least," Derek said. "The last thing we need is someone recognising you."

"Oh, I understand that, nephew," the man said the word like it was an insult and Derek felt his skin crawl. "Don't worry. I won't be seen."

"Because you'll stay out of sight."

"Stop worrying so much, it's bad for your health. Now, surely you've got better things to do then come down and lecture a harmless old man."

Peter was never harmless and it was the years of experience that Derek felt wary of. Still, he did have things to get ready for tomorrow and even if he ran as a wolf it would take time to get back to the castle. He shifted back, not bothering to go behind the screen because he wanted to see the flash of jealous greed in Peter's eyes. Unsatisfied, Derek slipped out of the room and the inn, a heavy feeling that he was overlooking something as he on the path ran back to the lit castle.

***

"Okay, but that doesn't answer how."

Stiles pinched the bridge of his nose but when he opened his eyes the third year Ravenclaw hadn't looked away from where she seemed to be trying to force and acceptable answer out of him by gaze alone.

"It's got to do with the, you know, the pressure under the wings and the velocity of the plane-- it's physics!"

The girl looked skeptical. "Physics-- you mean science."

"Yes!"

"And you trust science?" there was a thinly veiled undertone of contempt, like science was code for a gassy Blast-ended Newt.

"Yes!" Stiles said forcefully. "Science is all about experiments and facts!"He waved his hand over the rest of the bemused third year elective class who were far too used to this Ravenclaw-Stilinski face off. "You mean you'd trust magic, magic, over science? Aren't you people suppose to be the logical ones of this school?"

The girl's eyebrows shot up at his words but she said primly, "By definition, magic is inexplicable. Of course it's going to work. It's magic," her intonation seemed to spell out the word rather than saying it.

"Science is based on proven fact!" Stiles pounced. "Remember? We talked about this! Hypothesis, statistics, ratios?"

The Ravenclaw girl's eyebrows knitted together as she seemed torn over the internal conflict. For a few precious seconds, Stiles felt like gloating.

"So you'd fly on an airplane," she said haltingly. "Because you trust science?"

"Me?" Stiles snorted before he could stop himself. "Step foot in a pressurized tin can that's hurling over the Earth at a zillion millions an hour? I don't have death wish, thank you."

She grinned and he felt like smacking himself. However, before he could clarify that he wouldn't be caught that high off the ground, broomstick, flying carpet, or Boeing 757, the brass tone signaling the end of class echoed through the small classroom. The students were already out of their seats with the books, pens and notepads Stiles insisted on for this class under their arms.

"Remember to read the next chapter!" he hollered at their retreating backs. "We're watching Top Gun and I'm going to quiz you on-- oh, forget it," he sighed when he realised most of them were already too far away to hear. They were a nice class, really, combative Ravenclaws aside, and he was pretty sure they would remember to do the reading. Probably. He should make sure to get a summary ready just in case or it was going to end like the last time when he had wasted two hours explaining stick shift and automatic during The Fast and the Furious.

He gathered the books and papers and pop quizzes he had forced on them up when the door to the classroom opened again. He looked up, expecting to see a student but instead saw Malia leaning on the door. She was examining something on the wall but he knew full well she was watching him.

"Hey, give me a sec to stash these," he said, tucking the papers under his elbow as he managed to get everything in his hands. Malia watched without so much as an amused expression at his juggling act but she did hold the door open for him. "Come on, I've got some news for you about Kira."

"Okay," she mumbled and added, "Great," when she saw his eyebrows knit together in puzzlement. Now wasn't the time to ask her what was wrong; chances were she would actually tell him and there were students underfoot everywhere. She didn't meet his eyes as they walked down the hallway, passing students, mostly third years who ranged from being as high as Stiles's chin and his chest. Some nodded to them as they passed with a shy, "Professor." For others, he was just grateful when they got out of his way. Eventually they made it through the obstacles and down towards the Slytherin hallway. Rosco beeped at him as he said the password and Malia followed him into his rooms.

"Are you busy?" Stiles asked as he dropped books with a relieved sigh on his couch. He would deal with it later. "Any classes?"

"Just my NEWT class," she said dismissively. "I have them their independent project. I sent them off to hunt Mortwiggle beetles."

"In the Forest?" Stiles couldn't help but ask alarmed and Malia gave him an unimpressed look.

"There's an infestation in the West Tower," she said. "They're looking for the feeding source."

"That sounds a little underwhelming for a NEWT class," Stiles glanced at the clock over his fireplace. The arm for his afternoon class was still safely on Lesson Prep. He was safe until it hit Get Moving! then he had to meet his own NEWT students. "I mean, last year didn't you have the kids learn how to wrestle two headed swamp monsters? I remember the kids were really excited about this year because they heard about some kind of new ice-breathing lizard and --"

"Stiles, I did something."

"-- they've been practicing their Warming Charms since the beginning of the year," Stiles finished his sentence and frowned. "What do you mean you did something."

She gave him a look that was a cross between a pout and a plea. Panic gripped at his insides. "Malia, what did you do?"

"I think it might have been wrong."

"Malia."

"But you thought the whole thing with the books was okay."

"Don't kid around," Stiles grabbed her shoulders. "What. Did. You. Do."

"It was just going too slow," Malia said without meeting his eyes. "She hadn't said anything about the books. I got... impatient."

"Did it involve murder of any kind?" Stiles was half joking to calm his nerves but when Malia winced his grip tightened. "Oh my God, just tell me!"

"She has a pet," Malia finally bit out. "I guess, now, it's _had_ a pet."

"You killed her pet."

"I didn't kill her pet," Malia said, mouth twisting angrily like it was his fault she clearly done some kind of damage to the fragile seduction they were both failing at. "I... lost her pet."

Lost? The dread feeling ebbed away. "Just lost? Malia, that's fine. I mean, it's not fine, you shouldn't steal her pet, for the love of Merlin just stop breaking in her rooms!" He released her but she didn't even bother to rub at her arms. Stiles wasn't surprised, it had been like gripping steel.

"I know that, I just thought--" she hesitated and looked at him balefully, like she was gauging how badly he was going to react and how much it would be worth it to tell the truth. "If she was looking for it I could... find it."

Stiles could hear himself moan but he couldn't stop it. It was terrible and twisted and almost darkly romantic, if he was psychotic and into abusive relationships. He could picture the logic and it was gloriously, wonderfully Malia. He looked up, she was staring at him painfully hopeful. "Can't you? I mean, you're the Creature professor, right? Just," he flurried his hand over her, "just, poof! You know! Change! And track it down."

His brilliant plan didn't have the reaction he thought it should. If anything she looked gloomier. "Don't you think I tried that?"

"It didn't work?" he gripped at the hair on the back of his head, squinting at her because obviously he had heard wrong.

"It didn't work," she repeated back to him.

"What, like, the trail was too old or it got somewhere too small to follow because we can work around that."

"No, it didn't work as in there was no trail," Malia sounded frustrated. "I saw it run, I saw it but when I shifted there was nothing. No scent, no foot prints, no heart beat."

Sties gaped at her, his mouth hanging open. "What the hell kind of pet did she have?"

"Nothing special," Malia sighed. The clock above the fireplace clicked, Stiles's class was starting to gather and he hadn't even gone to get the gun locker ready yet. "Just a fox."


	9. Scent Hound

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Well, it's longer than usual, right? I was going to keep going but I figured I'd just post in order to avoid another long wait between chapters.

Chapter 9

Scent hound

The Monday morning first year Hufflepuff-Gryffindor class went as it usually did. There were a few tears when Derek handed back their quizzes and a girl with fluttering golden Snitches on the end of her pigtails berated him for including "trick questions" (they weren't trick questions if they were from additional notes, Derek had wanted to argue back but had tried to rise above the level of _an eleven year old,_ for Merlin’s sake). Instead he had just grumbled about a makeup next class and they moved onto the much anticipated winged horses unit.

  


After that, he had rush to his fourth year class, furious the whole way because it was tucked high in the Ravenclaw tower. It wasn't strictly fair that the Ravenclaw classes usually found themselves in the classrooms closest to their Common Rooms. Derek suspected there was some kind of dirty, under the table deal between the Ravenclaw Prefects and Deaton, a former Ravenclaw himself, but without proof he and the rest of the students and teachers unlucky enough to share class time with the House had to trudge up hundreds of steps.

  


On top of the annoying morning cardio, Derek always had to rush for the tower if he had any classes on the lower floors before the Ravenclaw classes. If he hurried, he could catch the staircase that bridged the west wing and the corridor on the fourth floor in the mornings. Missing it meant a twenty minute detour, and for a House that was supposed to be self-sufficient and creative, Ravenclaws were particularly vindictive when professors were tardy. Isaac stopped him as he left the DATDA classrooms, wanting to compare notes on the second year classes they jointly taught. By the time Derek managed to glare hard enough for Isaac to lose his nerve and stammer off, he had to almost jog to make up time. The students had long gone but, fortunately, the staircase was still where it was supposed to be.

 

He took the steps two at a time, in case the staircase decided it was in a less than charitably mood, but before he could make it to the top someone crested over from the fourth floor.

  


"Hale!" Stiles looked out of breath; his normally pale skin a little red. He had several wide scrolls under one elbow and brightly coloured notebooks under the other and was taking the stairs much too fast.

  


"Young sir, mind your feet!" an older man's voice shouted from the portraits on the wall. That more than anything startled Stiles and he looked like he was going to trip as the scrolls caught between the spaces in the banister. Derek braced himself in case the other man fell but he recovered smoothly, stopping two stairs above Derek.

  


"Jesus H. Christ, I wish those things wore bells," Stiles muttered at the portrait before turning to Derek. "You are just the person I'm looking for!"

  


His heart still pounding, Derek felt something hot run over him. He stubbornly shoved it aside. "Me?"

  


“Unless there’s another Hale in the vicinity,” Stiles said and Derek felt the earlier irritation at his uncle prickle. “Can you monitor my NEWT class after lunch? It's just three kids in my office, for the magical wards. They know what to do, they just need you to stand over and _stare_ at them like you’re going to eat them if they don’t finally finish—yeah, that’s perfect actually.” Derek scowled harder but Stiles didn’t seem disturbed. “So, can you?”

  


Derek hesitated; that was his only free period today and he had been planning on spending it grading. It wasn’t uncommon for teachers to swap classes like this but no one had ever asked _him_. A refusal was already on his tongue when the hopeful expression on Stiles’s face made him nearly swallow it.

  


“I can make it worth your while,” Stiles added in a teasing tone that hinted he didn’t get many refusals to his requests. Derek’s nostril flared and without thinking he let his eyes drift. He recognized that stance, the cocked hip, the one sided smile, the confidence in the eyes. He had seen it enough clumsily executed by awkward teenagers all over the castle in various couplings but usually it made him roll his eyes. Stiles, for all his hair seemed to stick up in the back and the hideous flannel pattern peeking out from under his robes, didn't look awkward at all. Instead of being exasperated by the stupid game of it all, Derek felt his mouth suddenly very dry.

  


Stiles paused, curiosity making him straighten a little and Derek pushed an angrier expression on his face. He knew from experience people usually cowered when he looked at them like this but if anything it made Stiles's eye narrow mischievously. Images flashed through his mind as he thought of how Stiles might look in other ways.

  


"Last time you were in my office you were poking around," Stiles spoke carefully as if he was choosing his words with great deliberation. "You can get a closer look, you know. It's not really anything to be ashamed of."

  


"Ashamed of?" Derek echoed.

  


"You know," Stiles shifted, his robe gaping open and Derek found his eyes zeroing in on his collar bone peeking out of the his wore tee shirt. "Muggle stuff."

  


There was an undertone Derek couldn't quite decipher. Derek could almost feel the back of his neck sweating. "Muggle stuff?" Derek repeated again faintly.

  


"We can keep it just between us,” Stiles shifted. Normally he and Stiles were the same high but the two step difference made Stiles almost loom over him. “In case you found it embarrassing.”

 

“I--” Derek's eyes flicked to Stiles's lips and the other man grinned.

  


“I’m free tonight if you are.”

  


Derek was supposed to meet Cora tonight and test the potion tomorrow. He thought quickly. It wouldn’t take much to cancel on her tonight, especially with the problems in the Forest, and it wasn’t like she needed him to protect her against Peter. It had been a while since Derek had done this, _flirted_ like this. It felt like a stretching a sore muscle, good but in a biting kind of way. “Tomorrow is fine.”

  


Stiles was scrutinizing him, his eyes trying to figure out something as he watched Derek before he finally pressed his lips together in a smile. “I’ll meet you in my office after lights out then.”

  


Derek nodded stiffly, knowing his face was stuck in a confused scowl as he tried to figure out exactly what he had agreed to. Stiles moved deliberately around him and down the stairs, and Derek found himself unable to keep from watching him go.

  


“Fine work!” the man from earlier, a portly looking pale fellow in a smarting green doublet, grinned. “A deft arrangement for such strapping men. A fine pair.”

  


“Oh, don’t read into the poor boy’s situation,” a woman in a purple velvet hat and breeches rolled her eyes at the man and gave Derek a sympathetic look. “Do wear protection, dear. One never knows where others have been nowadays.”

  


“Thanks,” Derek managed to say dryly. “But I don’t think he meant that you two are thinking.”

  


“Nonsense!” the man scoffed, refusing to lose his encouraging smile. “Buck up, man. One only has to wait until the moon rises to learn who will be satisfied, though I suppose if I win this wager both of us are.”

  


“He didn’t mean it like that,” Derek said but he felt distracted. For the first time, the mention of the moon didn’t send Derek automatically counting the days until the next full one. He paused as the feeling of dread didn’t wash over him. Instead, a feeling of something almost like happiness had replaced it. A part of him seemed to thump, content.

  


“You’re blushing, young man,” the woman pointed out and Derek forced a particularly harsh sneer her way.

  


“Breathe a word of this to anyone and I’ll make sure you don’t get restorations for a decade,” Derek said but even he knew his heart wasn’t in it. However, before either of the portraits could reply, the stairs started to rumble under Derek’s feet. He swore and ran to the top but the stairs were already grating against the fourth floor landing as it detached, shooting upwards like a horse deliberately rearing on its hind legs.

  


Before he could think about it, the something that had been content a moment ago roared in frustration. He approached the top step, swearing even more as the staircase reared further back, making the space between the stairs and the landing over five feet and rapidly growing. Before he could stop himself, his thighs coiled, a feeling like steel springs coming over him. He didn’t know how but, as he stood at the top of the gap looking down at the landing now a dizzying drop below, he knew he could make it.

  


He leapt; the space was now well over ten feet with a more than significant drop. He landed on all fours automatically, claws scraping along the stone floor as he kept his balance. The rumbling continued as usually until the stairs settled at its usual midday location by the second floor toilets, wiggling like a cat as it got comfortable.

  


Derek looked horrified at the white scrapes on the stone. It wasn’t anywhere near the full moon and he hadn’t tried to change. He glanced around quickly but there had been no one around to see it and that alone made him sigh in relief. He couldn’t help but notice his hands shook a little as he forcibly shrank the claws back into fingernails. Before he could leave, though, something that sounded like a honk got his attention.

  


A blue jeep rolled up into the large frame along the wall. It took Derek a moment to remember that this was Stiles's portrait, though why it was roaming free he didn't know. Usually portraits in charge of locked rooms were better about staying put but Derek had never seen anyone use a painting of an enchanted Muggle object. Maybe magic didn't work on it like normal objects or maybe Stiles granted the car more freedom at the risk of being locked out. Either way, he didn't like the way it moved right up to the frame, still honking and ratting its hood to keep his attention.

  


“What?” he bit out. “I'm late.”

  


The car flashed its lights and honked again, moving so close its bumper made the wooden frame rattle. Derek was about to make a ruder comment but the lights flashed again and he saw his reflection in the windshield. Ice blue eyes stared back at him.

  


The jeep honked, this time in concern as Derek stumbled back and tripped. He ignored it as he ran a hand over his face feeling hard ridges and smooth skin where his forehead and eyebrows were supposed to be. He realized his teeth were larger, the canines exaggerated when he took another breath. Slowly, he climbed to his feet and looked into the windshield again. The jeep splashed some kind of liquid on its glass and waved its wipers helpfully as Derek got a better look. It was definitely inhuman, like whatever power had helped him cross the gap without so much as a sprained ankle had forced its way out from under his skin. He poked at it, wincing when it felt solid, not alien-like at all which somehow scared him even more.

  


“No,” he said to himself and gripped the wooden frame. He had made his claws go back, maybe it was the same with this. Concentrating, he pictured his normal face, smooth and flat with a respectable amount of scruff. Slowly, the fur shrank back and bone painlessly melted and reabsorbed into his body. Finally, all that was left was the piercing blue of his eyes until even that faded to their normal hue.

  


The car honked delighted.

  


“If you tell anyone—” he started but stopped. He had no more room in his brain to make a threat. Was this a side effect of the potion? He had thought he had full control over the transformation but maybe it wasn’t a clear as he had thought. However it had happened, he didn’t like it and resolved to block Cora from starting the regiment, no matter what Lydia had to say about it. He took another look at himself not convinced his face hadn't shifted back in the few seconds he had looked away. The car honked again, a little questioning, but before he could answer it, the brassy tone of the start bell started to sound in the corridor. Derek swore and took off running.

  


***

  


“I can’t believe I agreed to this,” Stiles thrust his wand at a dense clump of vines and a quick severing spell cut them out of his way. “I can’t believe _you_ got me into this.”

  


He directed the last statement to Malia, who was sniffing around the barely there path. She glanced back at him and rolled her eyes, a disturbing human gesture on a coyote. “Do you have any idea who I had to get to watch my classes today? _Derek_.” If Malia had an opinion about his choice of substitute she didn’t advertise it. “Derek Hale? You know, tall, dark and menacing. I bet he doesn’t even know a Cheeto from Chiclet and I put him in charge of my NEWT class. My _NEWT_ class!”

  


Malia tried to slip under a bush but Stiles grimly sent a wind blasting spell to keep her from slinking off. She gave him a rude look in return and slunk low on the ground. Stile ignored her and cleared more of the path blocking him at face height.

  


He tried to think about something other than Derek. The man's mood had been strange when he had run into him on the stairs. At first he had just seemed annoyed by Stiles, which was something he had come to expect but had hoped had changed in the few times they had spent together recently. After all, hadn't Derek brought him food that one time? He was certain the man didn't hate him and at the very least he knew Stiles’s name. When Stiles had asked him for a favour he had clearly seen the other man checking him out. Sure, he had laid on the invitation a little thick but he hadn't expected Hale to bite. As far as he knew, Derek still had some kind of relationship with Professor Braedon but when he had leaned forward just right he had caught Derek looking.

  


It had been nice, his skin still crawled for some kind of touch and it wasn't like he had been hiding his attraction towards Derek. But at the same time it had twisted his stomach uncomfortably when Derek had seemed to respond. It wasn’t like Stiles was a pillar for people’s relationship integrity. He had slept with Lydia even though he knew she was still technically with Jackson and he had been caught in more than one tangled revenge plot. He just hadn’t thought Derek would be that kind of person. He tried to shove it aside; if he had read the situation right then he would finally be getting some action tonight and if not then at least he would still be spending time with the man. Derek’s relationship with Professor Braedon wasn’t his responsibility.

  


“You know what?” Stiles found himself talking about Derek despite trying not to. “I bet it will be good for him. The kids can teach him about the internet or something. Maybe he’ll even enjoy it.” Stiles froze. “What if they show him all the _porn_?”

  


This time Malia wasn’t subtle as she ducked into the under bush but she couldn’t fend off a summoning spell without a wand. She looked at him reproachfully as the spell dragged her on her back by the tail and he sighed. “Come on, you’re not going to find her like this. You said yourself there’s no scent trail. Change back.”

  


A moment later, she looked up at him with the same judgemental look but this time she had a human mouth twisting into a frown. “I also said you didn’t have to come.”

  


“Oh, I had to come,” Stiles offered her a hand and she reluctantly let him help her up. “If I let you look for this thing on your own you’d never come back. Hogwarts needs a Magical Creature professor and you’re not going to do anyone any good if you spend another eight years trapped in this Forest.”

  


“I wouldn’t,” Malia said with a stubborn stiffness in her jaw. Stiles snorted; he knew how pig headed she got when she was on a hunt. This Forest was huge. No one had ever been able to find the edges of it and he had heard more than one horror story about people who tried. That fox was missing and he knew perfectly well Malia felt guilty about it. If he left her to her own devices they would have a new cautionary tale to tell the first years and that was just something he couldn't allow.

  


“Congratulations on figuring out how to Transfigure clothes, by the way,” Stiles said approvingly as she started out in front of him. “Always a good talent when working around children.” She didn’t have any problems with the heavy vegetation and Stiles struggled to keep the branches she moved from smacking him in the face.

  


“I always knew how to do it,” she sounded grumpy. “It just itches under my fur.”

  


Stiles paused as he thought about it and decided it was a fair reason to Transfigure naked. "So, what? Today is extra chilly or something?"

  


“When we find this stupid fox—“

  


“If. If we find this stupid fox.”

  


“I want to bring it right to Kira and I’ve been told nudity isn’t always welcome,” she ended the sentence sourly. A branch narrowly missed Stiles’s nose.

  


“I never said that,” Stiles protested. “I’ve always appreciated your nudity. Welcomed it enthusiastically even. I mean, I _do_ remember talking to you about being more selective of your audiences—shit!”

  


It must be his fate to find the dampest, dankest parts of the Forest. His foot slipped on the mud-slick rock and his arms wind milled as he tried to keep upright. However, before he could hit the ground, Malia was grabbing his elbow and keeping him on his feet.

  


““You found the tracks!” her earlier irritation had vanished. She knelt on the ground examining something in the mud but Stiles carefully crouched beside her. He couldn't see what she was so excited about but he was hardly the expert tracker. “Stay here. I'll be back.”

  


“Malia--” he started to complain but she had shifted, clothes and all, and was already gone. He thought about doing another summoning spell but she had said she would be back. Malia was a lot of things but she wasn't a liar.

  


He shivered, wishing the sunlight was strong enough to penetrate the dense overgrowth. It wasn't nighttime, the only reason he had been able to convince himself to follow Malia on her idiot plan to follow the fox prints out of the castle, but that didn't mean it was warm.

  


Without Malia the Forest suddenly felt much too big and quiet. He gripped his wand. A noise came from the direction Malia had disappeared too, a yip and something that sounded like branches breaking. Then, a yelp that sounded almost as if Malia was in pain and Stiles ignored the thumping of his heart in his throat. He pushed through the bush after her.

  


“Malia!” he called as his robes tangled on a thorny bush. He yanked himself free, leaving the bulky material behind and earning a few long scratches in the process. There was another yip, this time to his right and he altered his course. He pushed through a final bramble, wand out and offensive spell on the top of his tongue when something bound him tight from head to toe.

  


“Whoa, tiger,” the voice was deep and silky and definitely female. Stiles was grateful that whoever had caught him up was keeping him from falling over as he struggled to look where the voice was coming from. The caster was gorgeous, blonde and in Muggle jeans, a white shirt that hugged every curve, and a short leather jacket that protected her from the thorny bushes. Her lips were bright red and her eyes dark and enticing but Stiles didn't care about that because she also had Malia dangling and snarling in the hand not holding her wand. “You friends with Toto here?”

  


“What's it to you?” Stiles said defensively. Vivid images of Violet's body and the precise way her throat had been slashed ran through his head. “You going to sick your flying monkeys on me if I say yes?”

  


The girl threw back her head and laughed but the spell didn't waver. She was good, Stiles had to give her credit for that, but he wasn't going to tell her that. If it turned out that she was the one murdering everyone she knew very well her wand work was good.

  


“You always did have a knack for Muggle jokes, Stiles,” the girl said.

  


“It probably comes from being raised in a Muggle house,” Stiles said. He looked at her again, struggling to remember her name. “Are you going to let me go?”

  


The girl seemed to consider it for a moment but then lowered her wand. The bonds keeping him bound broke and Stiles barely managed to keep on his feet. Malia snarled but couldn't get any leverage in the girl’s hard grip.

  


“If you call your dog off I'll even let you guys walk away,” the girl said, twisting her hand so Malia couldn't savage her arm.

  


“Malia,” Stiles took a step forward and the coyote quieted reluctantly. He held out his arms and to his surprise the girl passed over Malia without a fight. Malia was like a tense spring waiting to be released in his arms and he let her jump to the ground. “Now, who the hell are you?”

  


The girl didn't seem surprised he didn't know her but she did sigh disappointed. “I guess it was my goal to change my whole image but I was hoping you at least would remember me. Erica. Erica Reyes.”

  


The name struck a chord but his face must have conveyed his confusion because she sighed again. “I was a year behind you? In Gryffindor? Remember?”

  


Stiles tilted his head, struggling to think of anyone that he could think of that looked even remotely like the woman in front of him. She clucked her tongue in irritation. “Wait,” he said suddenly. “You mean that girl who had the seizure during the Apparition test?”

  


A faint flush ran over her cheeks and she gritted her teeth. “Yeah, I guess, if that's how you remember me, then sure. I'm that girl.”

  


“Sorry,” Stiles did feel bad but the story had been legend. She had Splinched in over a dozen places around the castle. It had taken a week to round up all the missing parts and until then she had walked around missing half her jaw. Stiles knew what his House had said behind closed doors, he shuddered to think about what she had been forced to hear for the rest of her Hogwarts career. “I didn't know most of the people below me in school, at least not in rival Houses.”

  


Instead of answering him, Erica turned and said, “You might as well just take it off.”

  


She was speaking to the empty space behind her and Stiles was confused until he saw saw a shiver of movement over the leaves as a woman’s face appeared. That was someone he recognized easily, Cora Hale had been in his year and Scott’s house. She had one of those faces that seemed to be timeless and she looked just as she had when they had graduated years ago, the only difference being the dark circles under her eyes. He could barely see the outline of her shoulders and even then only because he knew where to look. The invisibility cloak must have cost a fortune but the Hales had Gallons in spades.

  


“Stilinski,” she said, her voice deep as well. She slipped the rest of the way out of the cloak and Stiles was surprised to see her in Muggle clothes. As far as he remembered, while most people their age in school were comfortable with slipping into tee shirts and sweaters when out of uniforms, the Hales were infamous for their distinctly wizard clothes. “Still roaming the Forest unattended?”

  


“Ha,” Stiles gritted his teeth. Erica wasn’t the only person to have an embarrassing sixth year story. Hers at least wasn’t her fault. Stiles, however, was well aware of the dangers when he had taken that stupid bet. “I’ll have you know I’m very attended. I’ve got the Magical Creature’s professor right here—Malia?” He glanced around but the woman was gone. “Damn it.”

  


“Come on,” Erica reached out and tugged on Cora’s arm. It was an odd gesture, it looked more like something a parent or an Auror would do rather than a friend. Erica gave him a hard look when he stared too long and he quickly squinted into the bushes. “Hogsmeade is just over there.”

  


He quickly fell into step behind Erica as she put Cora in front of her and she glanced at him strangely. “What are you doing?”

  


“My guide just ran off to chase on a wild fox hunt,” he said. “And you’ve got to be nuts if you think I’m going to try and find my way out on my own.”

  


“Fine,” Erica said. “But only if you bring up the rear.”

  


“Good plan,” Stiles said, his eyes darting out and noting every shadow and shady sounding bird chirp. “I watch our backs.”

  


“I was mostly going to use you as cannon fodder but that works too,” Erica replied and then they were on their way.

  


They weren’t far from where Hogsmeade’s stony walls hit the forest and Stiles was grateful when he saw the familiar arched entrance. Once inside, he led them almost instinctively to the Three Broomsticks but left the two women there and instead went to the Magical McCreatures’ Care Clinic.

  


Scott’s clinic was near the edge of the village and was attached to Scott’s house, a wood and brick building that looked like it was in a constant need of a repaint. The clinic itself was rather nice and neat with a white fence around that was spelled to contain even the most unruly pets should they escape, and the animal keep around the back was large and bolstering. As Stiles got closer he heard some kind of roar and his step faltered. The next second, however, he heard a laugh and relaxed, changing direction to the keep where he knew Scott would most likely be.

  


Sure enough, after he let himself into the large, mostly glass building, he saw Scott and Allison fussing over something that looked like a cross between a hippo and a lizard. The animal whimpered as Scott finished smoothing a poultice and Allison patted it comfortingly.

  


“Stiles!” Scott looked up when a few cats in cages near to the door yowled at Stiles’s intrusion. “Give me a sec, Dora is a little vicious around strangers.”

 

“Take all the time Dora needs,” Stiles backed up closer to the cats. The hippo-lizard apparently stayed in a pen that was covered in some kind of green mud and once Scott released it, it looked much happier.

  


“Shouldn’t you be teaching?” Allison asked.

  


“I was helping Malia with something,” Stiles said evasively. “Don’t worry, I got someone to cover. It was just my NEWT class.”

  


“Just your NEWT class?” Allison raised her eyebrow. “I remember those being brutal.”

  


“They're all on independent thesis projects,” Stiles said. “Its easy sailing for me. But don’t ask me to repeat that when it comes times for me to grade them.”

  


“Is Malia here too?” Scott finished locking the pen. “I wanted her to look at something.”

  


Stiles scowled. “You guess is as good as mine. She left me in the Forest. Again.”

  


Scott’s head snapped around. “What the hell were you doing in the Forest?”

  


Stiles quickly gave an edited version of the story. He skipped the beginning where Malia had broken into Kira’s rooms and stole her pet and instead emphasized the part about a domesticated animal on the loose in the dangerous magical Forest. Scott frowned at him the way he did when he knew Stiles was leaving something out but thankfully he didn’t try to dig.

  


“Wait- what kind of animal was it?” Scott stopped him right when Stiles had started an animated list of the reasons he was never going to trust Malia whenever they were in view of a forest line. “A cat or something?”

  


“A fox,” Stiles said cautiously in case Scott had somehow heard through the complicated gossip network of local residents and Hogswarts staff that Kira’s fox had been brutally kidnapped from its home. Scott didn’t look like he was going to accuse Stiles of anything. Instead, he was grinning and went to kneel by the bottom cage near to Stiles’s feet.

  


“See, little lady?” Scott cooed as he released the locking spell with his wand. “I told you we’d find your family.”

  


There was a yipping sound but it quieted as Scott gently drew the animal out from the back of the cage. Stiles had never seen a fox this close, or this docile. It was beautiful with a rich red russet coat and dainty black features. It tucked its tail around its body as Scott stood, cradling it gently to his chest, and it gave Stiles a resigned look as if it knew Stiles had been the person chasing it through the Forest all afternoon.

  


“Allison found her when she was out flying this morning,” Scott said, patting the fox gently between its ears. “She looked a little too normal to be in the Forest on purpose.”

  


Allison reached over to pet the fox as well and the fox leaned into the woman’s touch shyly. “When I stopped to make sure she was okay she was too friendly to be wild. I brought her back for Scott to look at, and then I got roped into helping with Dora,” she gave Scott an endearingly sweet look. “But I'm free now, right? I've got to Floo-call my coach.”

  


“Oh, yeah, right,” Scott leaned in for a quick, casual kiss as Allison left for the main house. Stiles glanced away.

  


“I figured Malia could talk to her and help her find her family,” Scott said when Allison was gone. He was watching Stiles carefully. “But you can bring her back to the castle, right?”

  


Stiles was just reaching out to pet her and the fox gave his hand a warning look. He snatched it back to safety and then registered Scott’s words. “What? Me?”

  


“Yeah,” Scott said. He was already walking to a trunk. When he opened it, he pulled out a rhinestone-studded harness from what looked like an impossible snare of leashes and leather. “So Malia can talk with her.”

  


“Oh no,” Stiles crossed his arms behind his back as Scott effortlessly got the fox into the harness despite the fox’s suddenly desperate struggles to get away. “I’ll get Malia to stop by later but I’m not taking some rabid animal back to my room. Na uh. No way.”

  


Scott let the fox down and the first thing it did was bolt to the end of the leash. It was brought up short immediately and it turned around, razor white teeth flashing as it chomped on the leather. Both Stiles and the fox were startled when there was a sharp clanging sound and the leash didn’t break. The fox spat on the ground frantically like it had bitten something bitter.

  


“She won’t try that again,” Scott said smugly as he tried to hand over the leash. Stiles refused to take it. “Oh come on. She’s clearly someone’s pet. And this way Malia won’t have to come out in the dark.”

  


Stiles knew exactly whose pet it was and that, on top of everything else, made him desperate to refuse. Malia’s plan had been stupid but it was still salvageable. It had to be Malia who returned the stupid fox for it to count. If Kira saw him with the fox or someone else did and told Kira about it then Kira would be thanking him not Malia. The whole death-defying point of the Forest chase would be for nothing. Besides, he was sure if Malia was tracking the prints then she would find her way here eventually. It was better for everyone if Scott would just stop being such a god damn nice person. “Malia _likes_ the dark,” Stiles protested. “And what if it bites me like it did the leash? I’m not spell proof.”

  


“ _She_ ,” Scott emphasized. “She’s going to get insulted if you keep calling her an ‘it’.”

  


The fox shot Stiles a look that seemed to agree with what Scott said. “What if Malia doesn’t come back tonight?” Stiles tried again. “I’m going to be stuck with her all night. I don’t know what to feed a fox.”

  


“That’s easy enough,” Scott said. “They eat pretty much anything.”

  


“But--”

  


“Look,” Scott's tone turned serious, a rare thing, and Stiles found himself shutting up quickly. “This will be good for you. I know you've been lonely lately--”

  


“I'm not--”

  


“And maybe having something to, I don't know, _talk to_ will help. Even if it's just until you find her family.”

  


Stiles had to bite his tongue to keep from saying something sharp. Scott looked determined and Stiles knew that look, it was determined and Scott was nothing if not hard headed. He wouldn't be able to talk his friend out of this now and he sighed, resigned, when he realised some part of him didn't want to. “Fine,” he said. “But I'm not lonely. Geez, you're making me sound like a twelve year old girl or something.”

  


“If a twelve year old girl got into the same kind of trouble as you I'd be doing more than giving you a therapy animal for the night,” Scott said with a smirk.

  


Scott and Allison walked Stiles and the fox to the pathway back to Hogwarts. By now the sun was starting to set and Stiles was more than ready to get back to the castle before the light was gone completely. To Stiles's relief, the fox seemed to have given up on it's earlier rejection of the leash. It followed at Stiles's heels easily, almost briskly as if it recognized the castle. Stiles had never seen it in the castle, that was for sure, so mostly likely Kira had been keeping it in her rooms. When Malia had so rudely stolen her, the fox must have gotten confused and ran into the Forest in a panic. She could probably sense that the castle was home and was as eager as Stiles to return to it. That kind of behaviour was easy to understand. The thing that creeped Stiles out was the way the fox was sneaking concerned looks at him as if it had actually understood what Scott had said.

  


“I don't need a therapy animal,” he said crossly. The fox looked away almost guiltily and sneezed as a cover up.

  


As they approached the castle Stiles realized he was going to have to hid the thing as he walked through the hallways and cursed when he remembered his over-sized robe still tangled somewhere in the Forest.

  


“Okay, you, girl-thing,” he tried to concede to Scott’s advice and to his surprise the fox mellowed slightly. “If you eviscerate me we are going to have serious words. The fox bared it’s teeth when Stiles picked it up but didn't struggle. He took off his flannel shirt, shivering a little because the castle was too chilly for just a cotton tee shirt, wrapped it around the fox. It held still so he left it's head free for the moment in a gesture of good will. It wasn't perfect but most of the students should be in the Great Hall for dinner by now. Hopefully if he did run across someone he would be able to hit the thing's head in time.

  


He was close too, only two corridors from his rooms, when he heard voices. He ducked behind a suit of armour as they came closer, grateful that the torches were so low in the late hour.

  


“I hate coming down here.”

  


“Would you shut up?” Stiles recognized the voices and had to suppress a groan. “It's better to do it down here then where we'd be caught,” Brett continued.

  


“It hardly seems worth it when I freeze my balls off,” Liam replied.

  


Brett snorted; Stiles heard something like clothing rustle and a scrape of sneaker on stone. “Still seem to be there.”

  


“Get off me,” Liam snapped but there was a breathless quality to it and Stiles grimaced when he recognized exactly what was going on. “Hurry up, I always forget your passwords.”

  


“I knew you were trouble,” Brett said and though Stiles couldn't see he knew they must be down some kind of secret passage because the hallway went too quiet. He still peaked out cautiously, not just because of the fox cradled quietly against his chest but because he had no desire to catch two students canoodling.

  


“I'm not sure what I'm most disturbed at,” he commented to the fox as he hurried to his rooms. “The fact that those two are an item or that Brett is a Taylor Swift fan.”

  


The fox chirped at him as though in agreement. Rosco was waiting in the portrait and opened at the password. Stiles let the fox down, unclasping the leash but leaving the harness on. He had seen the manoeuvres the fox had done when Scott had put it on and he wasn't sure he could replicate the procedure. The fox ignored him and set about sniffing around the room. He kept a watchful eye on it to make sure it wouldn't try to go after his books or game cases, grateful that he couldn't have any cords in this room.

  


He grabbed another long sleeved shirt, wondering when the hell he was going to go back out to get his robe. The fox had hopped onto his unmade bed and curled up patiently when until he finished.

  


“Stay here,” he said slowly, as if speaking to it would make the English comprehensible. “I'll be back with food.”

  


The fox let out a soft whine but didn't move as he headed back to the door. He gave it one last look, hoping he wouldn't come back to a room torn to shreds, and closed the portrait firmly behind him.

 


	10. Fox Blocked

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry everyone for the Chapter of Switching Perspectives. I hope it won't do this again. Also, would ya look at that? A month between chapter 8 and 9 and then mere days between 9 and 10? And look at how long and lovely and plotty they are?

Chapter 10

Fox Blocked

Watching Stiles’s students had been interesting to say the least. Derek and Stiles didn’t have any NEWT students in common, which was surprising. Derek’s NEWT classes were filled to capacity with everyone from hopeful Aurors to Harry Potter groupies. He may only teach the theory side of Dark Arts and Defense but it still meant a lot of spell memorization, wand work, and countless research essays. His classes were serious and studious about the upcoming NEWT exams and he spent most of his time and energy making sure each and every one of them was level and equal with each other to do just that.

  


Muggles Studies was… well, Derek was somewhat regretting passing over the subject.

  


“Yo!” Mason, a seventh year he remembered vaguely from when Derek had taught him two years ago. “Pass the Twizzlers.”

  


A brown haired girl typing away on some kind of lap computer reached for a bag of candy next to her and tossed it across the room. Mason, at one of Stiles’s stationary computers along the wall, caught it easily. The third student, a black girl who was on a very small phone, ignored them both even though she had almost been hit in the head. Stiles hadn’t given him a lesson plan, or even an attendance sheet. He had just found the three students sitting by the portrait to Stiles’s office, waiting with bored expressions until they spotted him. He hadn’t even known the password but fortunately the students did.

  


The students seemed to know what they were doing, turning on the computers, or in the one girl’s case, plugging in her cellphone with a sigh of relief. Derek hovered awkwardly as the girls had settled on the couch and Mason at the table until Mason gestured for him to sit as well.

  


“Don’t worry, Professor Hale,” Mason assured him. “The computers haven’t exploded in anyone’s face yet.”

  


“They do that?” Derek leaned as far away from the screen as he could. The girl with the small computer laughed.

  


“Stop scaring him, Mason. Computers don’t explode.”

  


“Often,” the black girl added without looking up from her rapid thumb movements.

  


“Here,” Mason leaned over and touched a button on the screen in front of Derek. He jumped when it played a sound before flickering to life. “So you’re not bored.”

  


Derek wasn’t totally naive about computers and Internet, though mostly from what he had learned in textbooks. He had been to the Muggle world a few times. His parents had insisted they become cultured and Derek had even ridden a taxi through Muggle Paris once. However, the only practical experience he had with the things was that one time his aunt had proudly bought one for Christmas and tried to turn it on with a simple opening charm. The computer hadn’t lasted the hour. There simply hadn’t been a need for them and Derek hadn’t seen the appeal of staring at a too bright screen all day.

  


Mason seemed to take pity on him and showed him the basics. He wasn’t surprised to see that there were no opening charms or any charms for that matter. He was surprised when Mason opened something called a search engine (Derek had seen car engines before, this looked nothing like that) and told him to type anything at all. After a moment he slowly and deliberately tapped in the name he had seen on several of Stiles’s shirt. He thought he heard one of the students snort.

  


“Hey,” Mason chided the girls. “It makes sense. He’s definitely a Batman.”

  


He didn’t know how much time had passed, he had found something like an archive called Wikipedia and once Mason showed him the highlighted words were actually portals to other articles, he found himself obsessively clicking on them. It wasn’t until he was reading an article about Transformers (which had nothing to do with Transfigurations but seemed like a terrifying process none the less) that one of the students cleared her throat to get his attention.

  


“Uh, Professor Hale?”

  


Derek looked up, stretching his back which had gotten stiff in his position hunched over the keyboard. “What?”

  


“I’ve run into a bit of a programming snag, is it okay to Skype my tutor? I’d email him but he’s online right now.” Derek didn’t know what online meant, though he supposed it probably had something to do with the wires and cables he knew Muggles like to use. When he didn’t answer, she added, “It’s like a Floo call, but on the computer instead of the fireplace.”

  


“Oh,” Derek said before he frowned. “A tutor?”

  


“Professor Stiles is good,” Mason said. “But there’s a lot of Muggle stuff people have to go to universities for. Heather is doing her thesis on program design and Stiles is more of a pop culture kind of guy so he found her a tutor.”

  


The girl on her phone snorted. “If you call what he likes real pop culture. I had to show him that new Chainsmoker video last week. The man doesn’t keep up as well as he should.”

  


Mason rolled his eyes but it seemed to be part of a good natured argument. The girl on the computer, Heather, clicked on something and a chiming alarm sounded. It did sound a bit like the warning that happened when there was an incoming Floo call and after a moment a face appeared on her screen. Derek managed to keep his face smooth this time as he watched fascinated. The picture was clearer than with a Floo call, no crackling interference from the flames and Derek could already see the bonus of not breathing in soot and sneezing ashes everywhere.

  


“Hey Danny,” Heather said and started into her problem.

  


For the rest of the period Derek found himself trying to inconspicuously glance over the screens of the other students as well. Danny and Heather seemed to be speaking a different language, one as complex and foreign as any Runes. They were all Muggle-born, they had told him, and though they seemed to like being witches and wizards, there was an atmosphere in the classroom Derek had never felt before. The students talked and joked with rapid fire references Derek didn’t have a hope of following. It made him almost uncomfortable to feel so ignorant in front of teenagers but Mason seemed to notice and started to patiently explain what an ‘emoticon’ was.

  


When the girl on the phone showed him her screen he realised it was more than just something for making telly-phone calls. It was like a computer it and when he said so, the girl rolled her eyes.

  


“It’s a smartphone,” she said. “And it only charges in here. Hey, you’re more of a professor than Prof S, right? Do you have any idea when the Headmaster is going to open that computer lab he’s been promising? I’d really like to be able to text my sister outside of this class.”

  


Derek had never heard about a computer lab but then again he tended to zone out during some of the impassioned speeches other teachers made in staff meetings. “Can’t you just owl?”

  


“Sure,” the girl said with a fake placid tone. “If I want to take a week to have a decent convo. You do know how texting works, right?”

  


Derek did not, in fact, know and though the girl grumbled she let him look at her screen some more, sending rapid fire messages that were vaguely insulting about him to her sister. She explained in no mincing terms about her thesis scrolls on message media and how the magical world could benefit from some kind of hybrid program. After that, Mason showed him his research, the mechanical engineering of guns and how they could use it in the Magical world. Heather had much the same kind of project, writing magic into computer codes. Derek wondered just when Muggle Studies stopped being a field of eccentric and almost embarrassing busybodies and started to look almost… fun.

  


As the students showed him their work, suddenly friendly and eager to show off to a new audience, he started to feel a little guilty. He didn’t know why, but he had always assumed Stiles would be like those people like his aunt who bought useless hunk of plastic and metal and put them out at family gatherings to start a conversation. He had liked Stiles despite that image, and he was ashamed to think that maybe those were the reasons he had been attracted to the man in the first place. The students had the same kind of energy but there was a kind of lively, rational logic behind all of what they were saying, even if Derek didn’t understand it all.

  


The Ministry had always stressed that Muggles born wizards were no less talented than Purebloods, and that Muggles themselves were just the same as wizards where it counted. Derek had always thought he had believed that and had always made sure to not treat Muggles like his more traditionalist relatives had. However, Derek hadn’t counted on how amazing all the differences would be.

  


Too soon, the bell rung and the students saved and packed up their work. Derek went with them, almost in a daze as his brain tried to process all the new information. He struggled to concentrate on his next class, mixing up an anti-hex spell with and waterproofing one, only realising it when several students yelped as the Stinging Hex hit their fingertips. Flustered, he ordered the attacking students to practice their water spitting hexes instead as if it had been his plan all along.

  


Stiles wasn’t at dinner when Derek arrived at the Great Hall and with a jolt he remembered their plans later. He went to take his usual seat next to Braedon he could feel someone staring at him as he walked up to the staff table. Lydia met his eyes and meaningfully glanced at the empty seat next to him. He went over to her feeling a little self-conscious. She pulled him down into the empty seat beside her.

  


“I spoke with Cora,” Lydia said without preamble. “She’s going to stop by tomorrow as planned.”

  


Derek suddenly remembered the other thing that had happened to him this morning and told Lydia about the uncontrolled transformation, keeping a careful watch for prying ears. Lydia listened without speaking, her brow furrowed as she thought. Derek finished, excluding the part about Stiles’s car, and had to wait for her answer.

  


“So, you’re saying the wolf took over your body?” she said finally.

  


Derek shook his head, glancing up again as if challenging someone to eavesdrop. “No, it didn’t feel like that. I still felt human. I knew I could make the jump so I did, like it was natural. And it was easy to change back when I concentrated.”

  


“Was there something to set off the transformation?” Lydia pressed. “Anything in the air? A smell, or a chemical maybe. How was your body chemistry?”

  


Derek looked at her in annoyance. “I don’t know. I didn’t stop to draw blood and measure my glucose levels.”

  


“Maybe you should,” Lydia said. “If it was a reaction to being hungry or stressed we should know if that would trigger a reaction.”

  


“I was—“ Derek tried to stop himself but it was too late. Lydia narrowed her eyes at him when he stopped.

  


“You were what?” her voice wasn’t so much prompting as it was demanding. However, Derek firmly closed his lips, unwilling to say anything more humiliating. “Derek, you have to tell me. If this is going to cause an adverse reaction in Cora then we have to know.”

  


“There was a person,” he said through gritted teeth. “They made me feel—“

  


“Angry?” Lydia said probingly when he stopped. “Annoyed? Vengeful?”

  


Derek gritted his teeth, resolving to do something about the fact people seemed obsessed with his anger levels. “Not… a bad feeling.”

  


The corners of Lydia’s mouth quivered but she quickly gained control and shifted to a serious expression. “Arousal, then. That makes sense; it would be a baser instinct that would bring the wolf closer to the surface. You had no trouble transforming back, right?” Derek nodded, refusing to meet her eyes. “I’ll look into, uh, fixing the problem and we’ll postpone Cora’s trial. Just try to keep it in your pants or who knows how far into the transformation you’ll go. After all,” she fixed him with a stare. “It would suck to finally get laid and then maul your date to death.”

  


Derek swallowed hard.

  


***

  


Stiles had snuck away to the kitchens and begged something suitable for himself and the fox from the house elves. Well, he didn’t so much as beg for food as beg for food that would fit into his arms. He had to draw the line with one of the kitchen elves tried to shove a whole turkey under his elbow. The fox was where he had left it and it picked delicately through the overloaded offerings he put in front of it. When he and it were finished they were left with nothing to do but stare at each other from their different settling points around the room. This was why Stiles hadn’t wanted to take the thing in the first place. He was too worried to leave it alone in the room but he also had things to do. On top of that, the fox didn’t seem content anymore. She had continued her exploration of his room but this time more thoughtfully, like she was looking for something. Stiles was worried she would get stuck somewhere small but every time he went to pull her from under something she growled and he let go.

  


Finally, his nerves were frayed and he couldn’t sit still any longer. He carefully clipped the leash back on and her hackles rose. That was okay, they weren’t going far. Quickly, Stiles opened the secret passage between his office and his rooms. The fox brightened at the door and went through it without a fight. The passage was magical on his rooms end but once they passed the wards to his office the other side had to be opened mechanically. It was easy enough to pull a lever that worked like a door handle but it wasn’t the most secure set of rooms. Normally, professors would have two guardians, one for their office and another for their rooms but with a passage like this it was risky to have two portraits that couldn’t co-ordinate with each other, especially when no portraits could see inside of the office. Roscoe, however, was the perfect situation, though the other portraits had petitioned Deaton to put in a speed limit.

  


Once in the office, Stiles realised his brilliant plan of working while babysitting the fox wasn’t so great. Now, the fox could reach everything, wires, cords and all sorts of electric, fragile equipment but it was too late. He was already committed.

  


The fox didn’t seem interested in any of the wires though and instead began a new thoughtful examination of all the seams and corners. Resolving to fix problems as they came up, Stiles turned on his iPhone dock and went to check his email.

  


It didn’t take long for the fox to realise that a non-magical room was just as solid as a magical one and it curled up resigned on the couch. Stiles clicked around a few more document, checking the history from his classes and frowning when he came across a forum about dark magic. It wasn’t on the prohibited list though so he ignored it and glanced up. The fox was looking balefully back.

  


“No,” he said firmly. “I’ve got work to do.”

  


The fox huffed and rested its head on its dainty black paws.

  


“It’s not going to work,” Stiles said again. “I don’t care how pathetic you look. I spent all afternoon looking for your sorry little behind.”

  


The fox let out a small, understanding whine, rolling to its side and pawed at its snout. It peeked a quickly from behind its paw, and then wiggled comfortably on its back when it saw Stiles looking.

  


“Shit.” Stiles sighed and shut down the computer. “Fine. But only because Malia will kill me if she finds out I ignored you.” The fox barked, delighted, as Stiles settled on the couch and reached for his PS3 controller. “Scott needs his high score defeated anyway,” Stiles muttered and powered up the system.

  


Somehow, entertaining the fox with Little Big Planet changed to letting the fox nudge at the second controller with its nose and paws, which impressed Stiles a lot. He knew foxes were supposed to be smart but this one seemed to be a genius one. Maybe it had spent too much time around humans but Stiles was amazed at how well it seemed to be able to manoeuvre the controller, even without thumbs, though it did die almost every ten seconds. Eventually Stiles changed to old school, breaking out the N64 with the giant controllers and the fox seemed to enjoy Mario Cart just as well.

  


Stiles didn’t know how much time had passed. It was enough that the sun was fully down and the only light in the office was from the TV and computer screen backgrounds. His back had started to ache so he hit pause and stretched. Stiles hit pause and looked at the digital clock on the TV. It was getting late and for some reason he had a feeling he was getting something.

  


As if it could read his mind, Roscoe let out a warning honk from the hallway. Stiles swore and bolted off the couch. Derek. After lights out in his office. Promises. He glanced around quickly; there were a few crumbs but over all the room wasn't in bad shape. Then his eyes fell on the fox who looked up at him with soft eyes. “Fuck,” he swore and the fox looked almost offended. “You are Malia's find, not mind,” he warned the thing. It cocked its head at him but he ignored it as he looked for a humane place to stash it.

  


“I swear to God, if I come back and see even one spot of, of, _marked territory_ in my room I'll skin you myself,” Stiles scooped the fox up gently, his earlier fear of it long gone, and carried it to the passageway. He kicked the latch with his knee and it popped open on the hinges easily. “Go back to the rooms,” he dumped it unceremoniously into the tunnel and flapped his arms at it. “Go! Shoo!”

  


He closed the door firmly and nearly jumped over the couch to open the outside door. Derek stood uncomfortably on the other side.

  


“Come on in,” Stiles wished he had taken a second to glance in a mirror, or at least checked his shirt for crumbs. At least in the dimmed room it wouldn't be so noticeable. “Sorry, the place is a bit of a mess.”

  


“It’s fine,” Derek said stiffly as he walked through the door. He leaned subtly away from Stiles as he stood in the room, an act that made Stiles frown. Derek had seemed receptive earlier but it wasn’t the first time someone had seemed to warm up to him and then backed away when they had a chance to think about it. When the silence stretched to its limit, Derek added, “I was here this afternoon and it looked the same. But with light.”

  


“Right,” Stiles closed the door quickly and moved into the room. Derek followed instinctively. “Sorry, Deaton bitches about the elecity bills as it is. The man has no patience for post bills and for some reason they don't accept payment in gold by owl, crazy right?” Stiles knew he was rambling so he paused and collected himself. “How were the students? Okay, I hope.”

  


“They taught me how to use Skype,” Derek was looking everywhere but Stiles’s face, a bad sign.

  


Stiles raised his eyebrows, trying to imagine Derek glaring into a webcam. “Really?”

  


“I met Danny,” he added, finally glancing at Stiles. “He seemed nice.”

  


“He is nice,” Stiles agreed. “His niece is a first year in Ravenclaw. I was psyched to find someone to help Heather with her project.”

  


Derek nodded again and looked around until his eyes caught sight of the still paused game. “Did I interrupt something?”

  


“What? No! Just killing some time, just some solo Mario Carting for the nostalgia of it. Just me, alone.” Stiles rubbed the back of his head. Derek didn't look like he was listening anyway. The last time Stiles remembered being alone with Derek like this he had been a lot more drunk but Derek had seemed friendlier. Almost flirty. This guy looked like he was worried the shadows were going to jump out and accuse him of a terrible crime. Impulsively, Stiles asked, “Did you want to play?”

  


Derek seemed mildly interested so they settled on the couch. Stiles made sure to give Derek the Player One controller, trying to wipe fox drool off the second one as he cancelled the current race and went back to the main menu. Stiles stuck to easier tracks, even letting Derek use Yoshi until he got used to the controls, and little by little Derek started to relax next to him. As cool as it had been to play with a fox, it was infinity nicer to play with Derek. For one, he stopped spinning out into the wall at every turn by their third race. For another, it was nice to have someone able to respond to his trash talk.

  


“Eat it, Wario,” Stiles grunted as he passed the last opponent. Then, before he could enjoy the victory, a flash of pixelated lightening shot across the screen and his player's car shrank.

  


“Ha!” it was almost inaudible but it definitely came from Derek, dead last but with a smug smile on his face. Stiles turned to complain but stopped when he noticed how focused Derek was on the screen. Stiles was suddenly aware they had moved closer to each other when they had shifted to get comfortable. His leg was a solid warmth again Stiles's own and a smile crept over his face. The light from the TV made Derek's face almost softer as it hit the curve of his jaw and cheekbones. For a moment he forgot about the game but a sharp cry from the TV wrenched his attention back.

  


“God damn it,” Stiles cursed as his car sailed off the rainbow road into space. “I hate this track.”

  


He saw Derek glance over from the corner of his eyes. “We can do something else.”

  


Stiles’s mind immediately jumped to what his original plan had been: breaking out non-magical wine, putting on a movie, and finally counting exactly how many abs Derek really had. Most of his romances seemed to work out that way, witches and wizards alike being charmed by the moving pictures in the beginning but quickly getting bored when the characters didn’t talk back. To this day, Stiles had never seen the finale to Love Actually. But, to his surprise, Derek seemed almost reluctant to stop playing.

  


“Let’s try another game,” Stiles suggested.

  


***

  


Derek had shown up to Stiles’s office mostly to cancel. Cora was here, after all, and he should go and see her. It was a good excuse, irrefutable because it was a family issue. But all those reasons flew out of his head when Stiles finally answered, slightly out of breath in the same way he had been that afternoon. He was stripped down to just his Muggle clothes, a threadbare tee shirt with some kind of logo on it, and jeans that seemed to sit just right. His hair was sticking up still and his mouth looked red and bitten like he had been focused on something and Derek had just interrupted. For a moment Derek worried he had gotten the time wrong but it was right after the bell for lights out.

  


Stiles had invited him in before he could say anything. The room had been dark but Derek preferred it that way. He hoped Stiles wouldn't notice how much his palms were sweating. The small talk was okay and when Stiles had offered him a video game instead of a drink Derek found himself relaxing slightly. Maybe he had read the signals wrong. Maybe Stiles really had meant showing him Muggle things and he didn't have to worry about Lydia's warning.

  


After the racing game they played something with a different controller that had to do with guns and reanimated corpses, though they looked nothing like the zombies he had faced in his internship at the Ministry’s Regulation of Dark Creatures Department. Those zombies had been covered in flowers and moss, more like walking gardens because of the excellent fertilizer they made while sleeping in shallow graves. However, they did try to eat your faces off just the same.

  


It was hard to concentrate after a while. Once he didn’t have to focus all his energy on remembering what button was B and which stick was to aim and which was to move, he started to notice Stiles again. The man was energetic and seemed to throw his whole body into the game, even though it was clearly not real. His legs kept bumping against Derek’s, the jean catching against the wool of his trousers. His hands were big on the controllers too, long, firm fingers moving nimbly and making the little character on the screen move and shoot double the number of monsters Derek’s was. It was definitely watching Stiles’s hands and not the screen that caused his player to finally succumb to the virtual mob one last time.

  


“Don’t worry,” Stiles gripped his shoulder in a friendly gesture. “If you practice a lot you won’t die so much.”

  


“That's almost reassuring” Derek said dryly. Stiles used his hold on Derek to lever himself off the couch and Derek tried to force down the warmth that trickled from them.

  


“Can I get you a beer?” Stiles asked as he climbed over the couch and headed for a one of the over stacked cupboards.

  


“You keep beer in your office?” Derek twisted to watch as Stiles shoved a stack of magazines out of the way and revealed a small white fridge. He knelt and fumbled with the front for a moment before he opened it. It hummed and light flooded the room. It was a machine keeping the food and drinks cold rather than charms, Derek realized, still caught off guard by how many little gadgets were required to keep things working in this room.

  


“I keep it out of reach,” Stiles held up a small silver lock as proof before he relocked it. “No spells means no unlocking charms. They’ve got to actually pick the lock. My theory is if the kids can figure out how to get past Roscoe _and_ teach themselves how to pick a lock then they deserve this. Here.”

  


Derek took the beer, a Muggle brand that he didn’t know. Stiles had opened it with the heel of his hand and Derek took a sip as Stiles climbed back over the couch to settle beside him. He was closer than before, his entire side lined up exactly along Derek’s. Derek was suddenly grateful for the cool bottle and pressed it into his thigh.

  


“We can play something else,” Stiles suggested. “I’ve got Smash Bros somewhere in here. I only break that out for special people.”

  


“That’s okay,” Derek took another drink to steady himself and glanced around. If he looked at Stiles their faces would be too close. He felt the other man turn to face Derek fully, his knee resting on the couch now and an elbow coming to rest on the back of the couch close to Derek’s neck. He hoped the skin there wasn’t as flush as it felt.

  


“Thanks again, by the way,” Stiles said, breaking the silence. “For watching my NEWT students. Most teachers hate watching Muggle Studies classes.”

  


Derek almost nodded out of a habitual agreement but managed to stop himself. “It was interesting actually. They, uh, showed me how to use the Internet.”

  


Stiles’s eyebrows rose and he gave Derek a delighted smile. “Really? Did they show you all the porn?”

  


Derek had been taking another drink of his beer and Stiles’s words made him inhale too sharply. He sputtered, spitting beer down his shirt as his brain flooded with the sudden possibilities. Stiles started to apologize, scrambling for something to sop up the beer but resorting to the sleeves of his flannel shirt.

  


“Sorry, sorry, I guess I deserve that,” Stiles slipped out of his shirt and started patting at Derek’s chest liberally. “I guess I figured everyone's mind just jumps to 'and how can I add porn to that' but clearly you're made of purer stuff. Ah, crap that's going to stain.” Stiles pressed the shirt further down, concentrating his efforts on Derek’s stomach but to Derek’s horror his hands started to move too close to certain, responsive areas.

  


“I’m fine,” Derek could feel his whole body heat up as Stiles’s patting the area around his stomach, the muscles jumping in response and blood rushing from his head. It felt good, his heart thumping too fast but pleasantly so, until he remembered his fingers lengthening into claws, his teeth pushing through gum and skin and bone, and started to push Stiles’s hands away. “Just—“

  


“Off with the robe,” Stiles ordered, standing and thankfully moving away and taking both the bottles with him. There was a thrum under Derek’s skin that seemed to be directly affected by the distance between them and it quieted to a dull buzz the further Stiles moved. “And your sweater.”

  


“It’s fine,” Derek repeated desperately as Stiles set the drinks safely out of the way. “I’ll just use a cleaning spell—“

  


“Not in this room,” Stiles said firmly. “You can use one on your clothes later, maybe, but the couch is going to smell like beer if we don’t clean it now. Pass them here.”

  


With great reluctance, Derek slipped out of his robe and hand it to Stiles. He unbuttoned the outer layer, not exactly a sweater but close enough equivalent, and gave it over as well. The undershirt, a soft, cotton Muggle-brand long shirt that felt better than scratchy wool against his skin, was okay. Thankfully, Stiles didn’t ask for his pants. He forced himself to calm down.

  


“Sorry about that,” Stiles passed him back his drink. “I'll Febreeze the place later. I guess that's the worst thing about using my office for my classes too. The kids see all the dirty secrets.”

  


Derek had no idea what 'Febreeze' meant but he could agree with the rest of it. The students only saw a small part of his own office, the back part which he used to store Dark books and cursed objects also held what was left of his family's history. He knew it was dangerous to keep his secrets so close but he knew just as well as everyone else that Hogwarts was the safest place in the world. No one could destroy what he had saved from the fire here.

  


He realised suddenly that the room had grown uncomfortably quiet.

  


“I can go—“

  


“You know I’ve never seen you—“

  


Derek and Stiles both stopped as their words collided, and Stiles laughed nervously. “What were you saying?”

  


“Nothing,” Derek said quickly.

  


Stiles hesitated before continuing. “I was just going to say, I’ve never seen you without your robes on.”

  


Well, that didn’t help to break the tension, Derek thought.

  


“I mean—” Stiles flustered. “I meant to say was that I’ve never seen you out of your _wizarding_ robes, the traditional robes! I mean I’ve never seen you in Muggle clothes,” he said quickly at the end, his face red.

  


Stiles was right, of course. Derek owned very few Muggle clothes and most of them were like the shirt he wore now, things that were worn under layers. He knew the reason of course. All his family members were wolves, most of them born, none of them Bitten against their will. It was a life with a long secret and even deeper scars, most of them physical. Though most people had moved to Muggle clothes for every day living, being more comfortable and all around cheaper, his relatives had kept up with the traditions with full buttoned collars and sleeves. It was hot in the summer, sweaty in the winter, and alienating when he had been a teenager but it was an unquestioned rule. Even after the Wolfsbane potion made transformation easier and scarring less likely, the Hales had worn their armour like a uniform against prying eyes.

  


“It’s a family thing,” he said finally and then his mouth twisted. “It was a family thing. My parents like the older styles best. I never felt the need to change after they said.” It wasn’t quite a lie; Derek knew that because the words still tugged at something painful.

  


“Family,” Stiles said, sounding resigned. “It's important to you, aren’t they?”

  


Derek frowned. “It's important for everyone.”

  


Stiles sighed, shifted to put his bottle on the table, taking Derek’s as well. “Look, Hale, you're a good guy. A really good guy, under all that eyebrow and brooding. I'm,” he paused before saying bitterly. “I'm not so good.”

  


The darkness of the room made Stiles seem sharper, his normally energetic face still and the shadows under his eyes deep. Derek remembered the students from that afternoon, how full of life they were and how they were like that because they were just matching Stiles. He suddenly hated whatever made Stiles so harden. There was an ache in his hands to just curl around him and warm away the cold. Stiles looked at him, his eyes bright in the light of the TV, a half smile on his face. “You should go before you do something you reg-”

  


Derek didn’t know what exactly made him do it. Maybe it was because it felt like they had been leading up to it for the whole evening and Derek was afraid it was all disappearing, or maybe it was because there was some kind of uncontrollable instinct that Lydia had been talking about. Before Stiles could finish Derek leaned in, tilted Stiles’s chin towards his, and brought their lips together.

  


***

  


Derek’s lips were hesitant at first but Stiles made it easy out of habit, twisting so they were meeting at a better angle. It took a moment to get used to kissing a guy again, the rough stubble and squareness to his jaw different than Malia’s but they fit together solidly. Malia’s body had been muscle but curved into nice handholds that he could use to bring her closer; Derek’s was just was firm but when Stiles gripped at his arms and biceps he felt like he was anchoring himself. Arousal smashed into him like a floodgate that had been opened. He had given up on the idea of Derek being receptive to this but now that there was no question he chased the feeling with no unabashed hesitation.

  


Normally, when people finally decided to sleep with him, they threw their whole selves into it as if they were trying to finish before they could change their mind. Derek wasn’t holding back exactly but he was following Stiles’s lead, forcing Stiles to be a bit bolder than he normally was. It was nice, he decided in the soft haze, but he wanted something to push back on as well. He grabbed Derek’s other hand and slid it around his stomach, under his shirt, and gripped it hard so Derek knew he wasn’t going to break. Derek had callouses that were rough and scrapped against his skin, making him shiver.

  


This wasn’t the most comfortable position to make out in and Stiles felt like he was crawling out of his skin. Eagerly, he scooted back on the couch, knowing exactly what he wanted in this situation as he tugged on Derek’s collar, urging the man to follow. Derek watched him, a little hesitant but looking increasingly unhinged by the moment. It took nothing more than a second tug before Derek was giving into the pressure and chasing after his mouth. He was heavy, settling over Stiles like a warm blanket and Stiles groaned as he felt his cock starting to stir against the seam of his jeans.

  


Struggling, he managed to toe off his sneakers without breaking the kiss though it took a fair amount of expertise to keep from biting down on Derek's tongue accidentally. Derek didn't seem to mind his multitasking. He ran a hand over Stiles's hair, tugging it a little to angle their mouths together better and Stiles couldn't help but whimper a little when he imagined what else Derek would be doing with those hands. They felt almost bigger as as the rough skin caught on his hair.

  


“Shirt?” Stiles felt breathless when they broke off the kiss. Derek didn't need to be told twice this time and leaned up, stripping off his last layer. Stiles let himself gap a little; this was even better than he had been expecting. Derek was like some kind of solid wall of walking muscle. Stiles couldn't help but run his hands over it, feeling each ridge and smooth bump, marvelling that Derek was actually going through with this. Derek grinned, his eyes flashing and white teeth stark against the dark scruff. Stiles another jolt go through him, like his body had found another gear of turned on and he gamely reached for his own shirt.

  


His shirt caught on his ears when he tried to pull it over his head and he had to wrestle it off. He was at a disadvantage. Unlike Derek he had to fight against the couch cushions and pillow to get naked but fortunately the other man didn't seem to care how Stiles showed skin. He leaned forward, fully situating himself between Stiles's thighs and aching delicious, one hand just above Stiles's navel, sweeping motions making it feel like Derek was on an exploratory mission and was resolute to touch every inch of skin. The other guiding the back of Stiles's head. He kissed with a determination, like he had the best damn plan for this and it all centred around Stiles. It made Stiles a little light headed but that may have been from the lack of oxygen and lack of blood in his head. His body felt alive, a _finally_ feeling overpowering his senses and he refused to let the sweetness of Derek's mouth get away again.

  


He realized his own hands were being useless. They were just gripping on to Derek's arms – not that he blamed them and gave an extra hard squeeze on the bicep-- and quickly set them to work on the laces the held up Derek's pants. It was crazy how much his hands were shaking, his breath still coming short as Derek moved along his jaw to give him some reprieve. Derek used more tooth action than Stiles expected but he wasn't biting and the pointed edge of his canine against Stiles's skin only sharpened the excitement. He threw back his head to give Derek more room, not really caring when the pillow fell to the ground and left him with the hard padding of the couch arm.

  


Somehow, Stiles managed to tangle the last of the knots of Derek's pants free. Derek made a noise against his collarbone as Stiles started to slip his hands into his pants, and then there was another noise that didn't sound like Derek at all.

  


The man froze, then jerked back suddenly. His face was turned and covered in the shadows of the room but Stiles swore he would never get enough of staring at Derek's beard. “Did you hear that?”

  


“What?” Stiles tightened his thighs on Derek's hips, shifting as if to get comfortable but really just trying to get some friction.

  


“That noise,” Derek looked like he was ready to bolt. His body was unnaturally tense and every corded muscle stood out on his neck. “It sounded like a howl.”

  


“A what?” Stiles reluctantly pulled his hand back to Derek's stomach, making wide sweeping circles like Derek had, trying to coax him back down. There it was again, something muffled but definitely howl-like. Derek nearly fell off the couch in his haste to stand up. Stiles sat up as well, wincing as when things shifted in his now much tighter feeling pants.

  


“I've got to go,” Derek fumbled with the laces of his own pants. Stiles mourned his hard work now ruined. Then, he realized what Derek had said.

  


“Now?” he knew his voice was on the verge of whining. “But we just--”

  


Derek was refusing to meet his eyes, his face pale and Stiles knew if he actually caught sight of it he would see the shame and horror. He didn't see that look often but it had happened sometimes and he hated it none the less. The shame part Stiles could rationalize; he wasn't anyone's boyfriend or spouse and he never really stopped to ask if there was supposed to be someone else where Stiles was lying. The horror though, that one was just rude. His Muggle parents didn't make put him on level with a deformed goat. Stiles didn't want to see that look on Derek's face so he busied himself with his own clothes.

  


“Sorry,” Derek said, his face still turned away as he moved towards the door, tugging his cotton shirt on as he went.

  


“It's fine,” Stiles tried to keep the bitterness out of his voice but Derek was already through the door.

  


The room felt suddenly too cold and Stiles shivered. He turned off the game system then collected the two bottles and aggressively finishing them off. The house elves would take care of them, no questions asked, but he didn't want to let them go to waste. He would leave them in his room so no students would stumble upon them and get untoward ideas. He glanced down and saw Derek's robes and shirt folded neatly on one of the computer chairs. He gathered them up; there was no need for the students to see those either.

  


He kicked at the lever to the passage and scowled. The fox sat there, just as he suspected, doe-eyed and apologetic as it let out an unhappy bark.

  


“Let me guess,” he said unpleasantly as he started down the passage, the fox hot on his heels. “You have to pee.”

  


***

  


Derek put three flights of stairs between himself and Stiles's office before he dared to look at his face. The dimmed torch on the wall didn't do much but accent the wolf-like ridges on his face. He lifted his lip back with a hand, wincing when he saw the fangs and claws in his reflect on the suit of armour.

  


His blood was still coursing through him and it felt like it was several degrees too high. Angrily, he went to punch at the shiny metal but the suit moved quickly and blocked his blow. He glared at it, hating that he couldn't even follow through on a simple act of punching a non-living being. However, the suit didn't rise to the bait and he had to wait several seconds before the iron glove cautiously let his hand go.

  


He looked into the breastplate again, focusing on the gruesome features. It wasn't as easy as it had been before but finally the anger that was cycling through him gave him enough fuel to force the hair to shrink back, the eyes to fade, and his teeth and nails to dull. He should tell Lydia, he knew, but he was going to need another minute.

  


That had been close, that had been _dangerous_.

  


His hands were shaking and he balled them into fists. He had his fair experience with partners. There had been Paige in sixth year, who hadn't known about his secret yet helped him after those Transfigurations before the Wolfsbane potion. Jennifer, when he had worked in the Ministry which had fizzled out. And there had been Kate between them that Derek didn't like to think about.

  


But nothing had felt like that.

  


Was it the potion? Was it making those feeling stronger? He knew he had loved Paige though it had faded to friends later. But even with raging teenager hormones and resentment at his family's curse fuelling him he had never felt as out of control. He looked at his hands again. What if he had done it? He had heard Stiles's heartbeat right under him, strong and healthy and it had made him _hungry_. Even now he had to clamp down on something that wanted to go back down those three flights of stairs, throw Stiles down on that couch, and finish what it had started.

  


Lydia, he decided grimy. She had broken him and now she was going to put him back together.

  


Her rooms were unfortunately close to Stiles's. As he got closer his nostrils filled with the other man's scent and something clawed inside of him to seek it out. He ignored it, focusing instead on Lydia's smell until he got to her portrait. He was so distracted in his inner struggle that he almost didn't catch the other scents when the portrait opened.

  


“Derek!” Cora looked like she wanted to stand but her feet were submerged in a soapy bucket. Lydia looked unimpressed as she let him in. The chemical scent of soap, nail polish, and high end perfume stung his eyes and nose and finally the heightened senses retreated. “Sorry bro. When Lydia said you cancelled we decided to have a girls' night in.”

  


Erica was there as well, lounging on Lydia's pale green bed. She was in pyjamas, her normally deadly looking nailed wrapped in pink fuzzy gloves as she flicked through a magazine with her wand. She smirked at him, not even the hot pink footy slippers on her feet detracting from her intimidating nature. “I didn't know we were allowed to bring boys.”

  


“I told you,” Cora rolled her eyes. “If you wanted to catch up with Boyd at the inn, Hogwarts is perfectly safe.”

  


“Thanks but no thanks,” Erica said. “Braedon will have my ass if I'm not watching yours, even if I trade it for one as fine as Boyd's. Besides, that place is overrun with Aurors,” she shuddered. “I don't know how you put up with Jackson if they're that loud and obnoxious all the time.”

  


“He has his moments,” Lydia said tensely, still looking at Derek like every inch of her yellow polka dotted robed body was going to pummel him.

  


“Keep exfoliating, princess,” Erica ordered.

  


Cora grumbled but pulled a tub of something noxious looking towards her and started to rub it on her face.

  


“What?” Lydia asked crossly. “Don't tell me you finally want me to do something about those eyebrows.”

  


That brought Derek back to the reason he had come. “It happened again,” he said tersely.

  


Some of the irritation faded from her face. “Did you go see that person again--”

  


“Yes.”

  


“-- after I strictly told you no funny business,” she glowered. “All those years of celibacy and you have to go breaking your nun vows now?”

  


“Wait, what?” Cora stopped, her face half covered in a purple goop. “Derek are you dating someone?”

  


“Can we not talk about this here?” Derek snapped.

  


“You came to see me,” Lydia crossed her arms.

  


“Derek has a _girl_ ,” Cora said in a conspiratorial tone.

  


“It's not a girl,” he felt his molars grinding to a fine pulp as he spoke.

  


“Derek has a _boy_!”

  


“Hot,” Erica smirked, hooded eyes look right right through him.

  


“Derek has a problem with his own boy bits,” Lydia sounded utterly annoyed with him. “And he's got to learn to grow up and keep it tuck away until I fix it.”

  


Anger welled up in him and to his horror he felt bones shifted in his hands. The light tone in the room disappeared. Lydia stepped back and Erica was off the bed, her stance ready and wand out, massaging gloves and socks still on but not at all in the way. Cora frowned at both of them but kept quiet as Derek tried to take a few steadying breaths.

  


“It's getting worse,” Lydia said grimly.

  


“I can still control it,” Derek held out his hand, back to normal. Erica didn't relax an inch.

  


“Stick close to Braedon, she can put out any fires” Lydia ordered. “Don't get angry. Don't get worked up. And for Merlin's sake, don't go near whoever it is.”

  


That wasn't going to be a problem, Derek thought as he firmly buckled down on the whining ache inside of him. He thought of what would happened if he lost control around Stiles, the image of those eyes going dark, and it finally quelled.

  


“Derek.” He glanced up at Lydia. There was a resoluteness in her jaw that normally wasn't there. The last time he had seen it she had been a Prefect in fifth year, sitting by Cora's bed as the girl shivered and gagged through the aftereffects of the earlier versions of the Wolfsbane potion. Derek had come as soon as Deaton had sent him an owl, the affects of the full moon making his own body shake but not as bad as his sister's. Derek still didn't know how Lydia had found out but all that mattered what instead of hate and fear she was looking after Cora the same way Laura had. “I'll fix this,” she said now as she had then. “I promise.” And like then, Derek found himself believing her.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AND THEY FINALLY MAKE OUT. Dear Merlin, I started this story with the intention of just a simple, under 10k of Derek and Stiles sneaking around and making out in dark shadows the whole time. HOW DID IT END UP LIKE THIS?


	11. Accusations

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay new chapter!

Chapter 11

 

Stiles planned to avoid Derek at breakfast the next day. The man had fled from his office like Stiles had the plague; he didn’t want to relive the humiliation over eggs and toast. It didn’t matter though. Derek was absent for the whole meal, as was Braedon. He wondered where the hell they were. Had Derek been stupid enough to tell Braedon about last night? He was a Hufflepuff after all. 

Stiles looked for Lydia and Malia but both their seats were empty. Kira and her father were missing too and Stiles felt a stab of guilt as he thought about them looking for the fox that was safely resting in his room. Stiles waited until the food started to clear back into their dishes before giving up on waiting for his friends. He wrapped a few sausages into a napkin and went back to his room. 

The fox at least was happy to see him. She had curled up on the other side of his bed and slept through the night. Stiles had snuck her out last night so she could do her business modestly in some bushes where Stiles couldn’t see. This morning she had just blinked sleepily when he threw on a sweater for breakfast but had seemed content to go back to sleeping. Now, he cut up the sausages for her and left her to that while he sorted out the clothes he would wear for the rest of the day.

His robe was still in the Forest. He cursed as he looked through the rest of his things for something that was suitably professor-like. That robe was really the only one he had, if he didn’t count the ones he bought as souvenirs from Quidditch matches or Pride Parades. None of those were quite right for wearing in the classrooms. It would have to be Muggle clothes today which meant he would have endure a few snobbish nose turns from the more traditional professors. He made an effort to use an ironing charm on one of his plainer button ups. Maybe he could fast order another robe in Hogsmeade after school and resolved to send an owl to the dress shop during lunch. 

The fox was sitting expectantly by the door when he stepped out from behind his dressing curtain. He frowned and she yipped impatiently. 

“You’ve got to stay here,” he said firmly and its ears drooped. “You can’t be going around the castle all free. Kira never let you do that, did she?” The fox seemed to sigh. It was strange how human-like it was but, then again, Stiles lived in a magical castle where owls could be trained to deliver mail to the most obscure addresses and his best friend turned into a coyote on the regular. It seemed natural that something as clever as a fox would pick up some eye rolling from the dozens of teenagers roaming the walls. “What? Bathroom break again?”

She chirped affirmation and Stiles grudgingly went to get the leash. “Breakfast is definitely over. Everyone and their mothers are going to see you now.”

Sure enough, even though Stiles had tried to take her out through the back routes, they didn’t past three corridors before they ran into Professor Yukimura who was poking around the statues at the top of a stairwell. The fox must have recognised him because she let out a quick bark before Stiles could clamp his hands over her muzzle. 

It was too late, Yukimura was already coming down the stairs. “You found her!”

“Oh, is she yours?” Stiles went for his innocent, his default. “Malia and I just found it wandering around.”

“Uh, yes,” The man took the fox gently. Stiles went to hand him the leash and Yukimura stared at it for a moment before taking it. The fox wiggled in his arms but didn’t jump down. “Definitely mine, though some days I question that.” The fox barked at the slight. “Thank you, for finding her.”

 

“It was Malia who found her, really,” Stiles said. “Malia saw her sneak out of the rooms. You should tell Kira to scold her portrait or something for letting her out.”

The fox gave him a long accusing look that expressed just how she felt about his lie. Yukimura didn’t seem to notice. “Oh, uh, right. I’ll be giving a daughter a big lecture on keeping things behind locked doors,” he emphasised the last bit as he looked at the fox and Stiles swore he saw her ears droop. 

He made his escape, ignoring the part of him that was sad to see the fox go. After all, he could always visit. He went to Malia’s rooms to let her know but the portrait that guarded her rooms told him she wasn’t back yet and hadn’t been back all night. The portrait didn’t seem too concerned about it. It wouldn’t be the first time Malia had napped around the castle in coyote form. However, Stiles started to feel an odd churning in his gut. 

He was on his way out of the castle to check at her office, a stable by the Quidditch pitch that housed the creatures she used for hands on lessons, when he ran into Lydia. She looked pale and it took Stiles a moment to realise it was because she had forgone her usual make up. Her hair was pulled back but there were uncharacteristic flyways from the braids. She spotted him and her face lit up, another unusual thing. “Stiles! I need a favour— Where the hell are your robes?”

“What is it?” Stiles said reluctantly, ignoring her question. Usually a request from Lydia would get his full attention but his feet itched with the need to go check on Malia. 

“I need you to watch my first period class,” she sounded out of breath. “The seventh years. I’ve already put out everything. They can just start prep work for tomorrow.”

“Potions?” Stiles echoed doubtfully. He had passed his OWL just fine and even gotten a decent mark on his NEWT but that didn’t make him a potions master by any means. “I’m looking for Malia.”

Lydia sighed, annoyed. “Can’t it wait?”

“Can’t your thing wait?” Stiles shot back. She took a breath as if to calm herself and Stiles saw her set her jaw in a determined lock. 

“Fine. I’ll just let my potion sit for the next hour. But, when it boils over and ruins six months of work, you can be the one to tell my patient that he’s condemned to another painful, traumatic transformation at the full moon because you’re looking for an early morning booty call.”

Stiles gritted his teeth. “Malia and I aren’t sleeping together anymore.”

She arched an eyebrow in doubt. “Really?”

“Yes, really.” 

“Oh,” she looked genuinely sorry for a moment. “I didn’t realise you were taking her thing for Kira that seriously.”

“I always take these things seriously,” he shot back. “I helped you with Jackson and now look at you.” 

“Yeah, you helped me. While you were sleeping with me,” she reminded him. 

“It took two of us to do that,” he said. “You and Malia are very different people And Jackson is more of a tool than Kira.”

She opened her mouth as if to defend Jackson’s honour then closed it with a grin. “I guess there’s a smudge of truth in that.”

“Have you seen her?” Stiles said before Lydia could get more indepth with how much she loved her fiancé. “I haven’t seen her since yesterday afternoon.”

“No, sorry,” Lydia sounded unconcerned. “But you know how she is. Make sure my class doesn’t blow themselves up.”

“Lydia, I didn’t say yes,” Stiles said, annoyed, but she was already walking away.

“And don’t touch anything in the cupboard with the brass lock. Or the gold lock. Actually, just don’t touch anything but what I put out.”

She was already out of earshot by the time he worked himself up to refuse again. He grumbled and changed directions to the dungeons. This was karma from asking Derek to watch his class yesterday and he might as well just accept it. Plus, it was always nice to have a favour over Lydia when it came time for marking season.

It wasn’t the NEWT elective, which was at least something. When Stiles got to the room it was already filled with students carefully edged on either side of the classroom. He groaned when he realised it was a Gryffindor-Slytherin class. It was always a little weird to be teaching the seventh and sixth year classes, especially the Slytherins. He remembered some of them when they had been the little snot-nosed first and second years running around the Common Room when he had been a student. 

Some of the Gryffindors spotting him as he slipped into the room. Heather grinned and waved but Liam looked at him with narrowed eyes. “Where’s Professor Martin?”

“She came down with some kind of stomach flu,” he lied easily. “Just everything that went in coming out in all directions. You should all be grateful I’m here instead of her.” The students look horrified but Stiles gave himself a mental pat on the back. His housemates would be proud. “You’re all supposed to be prepping for the next class so I suggest you get on that.”

There was a murmur as they all slowly moved to their stations, their pairs already long decided. Stiles grimaced when he saw the buckets of slimy ingredients at the front. He had forgotten how bad Potions smelled. There was a class registry and Stiles quickly picked it up and started to check off the names that he knew as the students filed up for their ingredients. After he reached the end of the names he knew he started to call them out over the chatter, ticking as the students responded. Finally, he doubled checked and frowned. He looked up and did a quick head count. 

“Hey. Where’s Brett Talbot?”

The chatter stopped. There was one station that didn’t have two people at it, and the girl there shrugged. “He wasn’t at breakfast.”

“He wasn’t at dinner last night too,” another Slytherin girl said. Stiles sensed a shift in the mood as the Slytherin students started to glance at each other. 

“I don’t think his bed was slept in either,” a blue-eyed boy finally said, an edge of worry in his voice. More voices chimed in suddenly: no one had seen the boy since last night. All too quickly Stiles could feel the panic in the room start to rise. Stiles had to clamp down on his own. Normally a missing student was just an annoyance. Especially for the first class of the day it usually meant they had overslept or had been dawdling somewhere. However, he had the memory of two dead bodies in the Forest and the residual nervous feeling in his stomach from looking for Malia. He rapped his knuckles on the table quickly to catch the students’ attention.

“Don’t worry about it,” he lied as calmly as he could once they quieted. “He’s probably in the infirmary then. Professor Martin must have forgotten to tell me. Just keep going, okay?”

That seemed to reassure the students because they went back to their knives and scales, their voices still louder than before but not as close to panic. Stiles struggled to keep his own misgivings from showing on his face. It wasn’t like Lydia to pass off her classes and it really wasn’t like Lydia to not keep laser-like attention on all her students at all time. If Brett had been in the infirmary she would have known and he was certain she would have told him. 

One student hadn’t gone back to work. Liam Dunbar was passing Heather something leafy and orange for her to mince but his face was paler than usual. 

“Liam Dunbar, can I have a word?” 

Several students looked up but went back to their work when Stiles glared at them. Liam came up to the front, his hands clenched in fists. “I didn’t do anything to him,” Liam said in a harsh voice before Stiles could speak. 

“Yeah, not so concerned about that now,” Stiles said dryly. “I saw the two of you last night.” Stiles was worried the kid was going to have a stroke as his face went from pale to bright red. “Look, I don’t care what you two do behind the, uh, privacy of a secret, spelled door. But if he wasn’t back at the Common Room last night that meant you were probably the last to see him.”

“He left the same time as me,” Liam still sounded defensive and he leaned in so he could lower his voice even further. However, Stiles could see worry bright in his eyes. “Around the end of dinner. He said he was going to get some books from the library before lights out. Is he really in the infirmary? What happened?”

“I’m sure he’s fine,” Stiles said as soothingly as he could, which, judging from the pinched look on Liam’s face, wasn’t very much. “Probably the infirmary, like I said. Go back and help Heather. You know how Professor Martin gets when ingredients aren’t finished on time.”

The staff medallion around his neck weighed heavy. It wasn’t procedure to sound a school wide alert until he had checked with at least Brett’s Head of the House and Deaton but it was taking a lot of effort to keep from spelling Brett’s name into it. The students kept to themselves for most of the lesson but he found himself snapping at them when they asked stupid questions. When the bell rang, they were all glad to see the back of each other. Without hesitation, he headed straight for Deaton’s office, worry growing with each footstep. 

He would just tell Deaton about Malia letting the fox out. It was embarrassing but it was better to just get the information out in the most complete way possible. Deaton was mysterious and withholding but he was, above all of that, understanding. He had been the one to hire Malia in the first place, after all. He would probably find the whole thing funny and then they could focus on the real problem.

As he turned the corner, he stopped, nearly backing into a statue. Surrounding the Headmaster’s office door were half a dozen red-robed Aurors. He recognised Jackson at their front. They seemed to just be leaving the office and Deaton brought up the end of the group. Jackson’s face was stiff, even more than usual, and Stiles could see they had on spellproof vests under their robes and their wands were glinting on their elbow guards ready to spring into action. 

Wild visions of other bodies raced through his head. He saw Malia and Brett with their throats torn out and his pace picked up. 

However, before he could call out, Jackson seemed to sense him. He looked over, his eyes narrowing when they landed on Stiles, his face twisting into an angry grimace. “Stilinski,” he voice was hard and furious as he raised his wand arm. Stiles’s feet froze and he found himself unable to move. Literally. He tried to lift his feet but they seemed to be glued to the ground. 

The rest of the Aurors turned but Jackson had already shouldered his way through them, fury in every line on his face as he stalked up. Stiles leaned back as far as he could and nearly lost his balance before Jackson grabbed the front of his shirt, keeping him upright. 

“Why the hell did you do it?” Jackson’s voice was barely a hiss, quiet enough that Stiles was sure the suddenly approaching footsteps of the rest of the Aurors couldn’t hear. He sounded angry and almost frantic. “Why the hell did you do it?”

“Do what?” Stiles felt like his throat was seizing up, fear more than magic making him feel paralyzed as he tried to understand what the hell Jackson was talking about. This didn’t make any sense at all. “Jackson?”

“You’re under arrest, by order of the Ministry of Magic,” Jackson stepped back, not releasing Stiles as he took Stiles’s wand from where he kept it in his back pocket. “For the kidnapping of a student and the suspected murder of Malia Tate.”

***

It seemed that Hogwarts still had a few surprises that Stiles hadn’t discovered. The prison, for example. That hadn’t been on any school map Stiles had seen. 

It was small and dank, far from the pleasant cheeriness of the rest of the castle, and tucked somewhere under the bathroom if he was going to judge by smell. The stone walls, normally softened by wood banisters and frames, were jagged and cast harsh shadows. There was a pallet, though it was nearly as hard as the stone floor, and a spelled privy in the corner. It wasn’t exactly cold but it wasn’t warm and he didn’t have anything thicker than his button up shirt on so he found himself shivering as the damp settled along his bones. One wall was barred with steel as thick as his thumb and it had stung with some kind of containment spell when he touched it. Dull runes were written on them and all over the cell. It had been a while since Stiles had opened a Rune dictionary but the ones he did recognised told him he wasn’t about to get out of this place under his own power. 

Not that he wanted to, at least not until he found out what the hell was going on.

There was an Auror watching guard on the outside. She looked bored and was thumbing through a book but she had refused to speak to him when he had tried. He had given up an hour ago and sat, staring at his hands and trying to process what had happened. 

Malia. Murdered. 

The words couldn’t translate. Jackson may as well have been speaking Troll. 

There must be some mistake, something Jackson wasn’t telling him because Jackson was an asshole, no matter how much Gryffindor had softened him up. Malia couldn’t be murdered. 

He had seen her go off into the Forest, and the Forest was dangerous of course, but she was Malia. She had survived it when she had been a kid, and ran around it like it was nothing more than a playground now. There was nothing in that place that could touch her, no creature or magical force. The fact that Jackson thought Stiles of all people could catch her off guard was ridiculous. If they would just talk to him he could explain that. 

There were footsteps on the stairs. The Auror jumped to attention, her wand out, but she relaxed when it was just Jackson looking worn out and old. Stiles stood up too, slowly as he tried to read the almost blank expression on the other man’s face. 

“Go,” Jackson told the woman. She nodded stiffly and gave Stiles a nasty look before leaving. Stiles and Jackson waited and listened until her steps faded up the stairs. 

“Jackson, what the hell do you mean Malia is—“ the words blocked up in his throat. “What the hell is going on?”

Jackson was quiet for a moment. He came right up to the bars, his face calmer than it had been before but cool fury in his eyes. “So. Why’d you do it?”

“Do what?” Stiles reached out to touch the bars and hissed in pain as they stung. He rubbed the tingling feeling out on his pants. “What happened? Where’s Malia?”

“See, that’s my next question,” Jackson said. “Because, while we have a witness and evidence, I can’t nail you to the wall for being a backstabbing scum bag until we find her body.” He said the last part through clenched teeth and seemed to force himself calm again. 

Stiles felt his knees go weak and he managed to sit on the bench again. “You haven’t found her?”

“Don’t think that’s going to stop me,” Jackson said steadily. “You shouldn’t have left Brett Talbot alive.”

Another weight lifted from Stiles’s chest. “Brett? He’s okay?”

Jackson slammed his hands on the bars, purple flames licking up them though Jackson seemed unaffected. “I trusted you!”

“I didn’t do anything!” Stiles had had enough. Brett was okay, that alone gave him enough willpower to stand up, as close to the purple flames as he dared. “Jackson, believe me! I was on my way to tell Deaton that Brett had missed class. I thought something was wrong!”

“Something is wrong,” Jackson snarled. “And it’s got to do with whatever cold blooded vile vendetta you have against your own house.”

“Look,” Stiles was running out of patience. “Just tell me what happened.”

“I found Brett Talbot this morning in the Three Broomsticks. He was beaten up, traumatized,” Jackson said the last word slowly as if he didn’t except Stiles to understand what it meant. He took his hands off the bars and Stiles was glad because it meant Jackson wouldn’t be able to see his angry flush. “Last night someone covered his face with some kind of Muggle concoction and took him out of the castle.”

“Muggle concoction?” Stiles asked. “What does that even mean?”

“It means some kind of drug with non-magical elements,” Jacksons said slowly, like he was talking to a child. Stiles knew it was a method to piss him off and he had to force his temper down. “Because whoever made it knew that anything with magical properties wouldn’t have worked on a werewolf.”

That made Stiles pause. “What—Brett’s a werewolf?”

“He was Bitten when he was a child,” Jackson said. “It probably jumpstarted whatever magic he had because his only magical relative is a third cousin on his mother’s side. The point is, only the Head Master and his House Head were supposed to know.”

“I didn’t know,” Stiles gritted out. “I barely know the kid.”

Jackson ignored him and pulled out a worn, red leather bound notebook. There was a quill tucked into a pocket and he pulled it out. Stiles wondered if the man was finally going to take a statement but instead of using the sharp end, he opened to a page and circled the scrawled letters with the feather end. A black, inky vapour rose from the book. 

“I haven’t had time to put the interview in the Pensive at the Ministry,” Jackson said. “But this works for now.”

The vapour twisted until Stiles could make out a face hovering a few inches above the pages. It was definitely Brett but Stiles could see the ink had coloured darkly over one eye, a bruise, and several other parts of his skin looked like they were oozing thick, black blood. Far from the normally cocky, shit-eating grin he normally had, Brett looked much younger and almost dazed. 

“I was going to the library,” Brett’s voice had an echoing quality to it but it was easy enough to understand. “My sister was looking for this book so I was going to help her. But then there was a door, a tunnel by this statue of a hag. I remember someone grabbed me from behind. They put a cloth over my mouth. I tried to fight but I just couldn’t.” Brett’s face twitched, wincing as he seemed to be remembering. A hand ran over his mouth as the silvery eyes stared vacantly in the distance. 

As much as he had clashed with Brett he didn’t want to see the kid like this. Jackson seemed undisturbed by the shaking in Brett’s voice but Stiles suspected it was because he had gone over these notes for hours. The face flickered, his expression suddenly calm and smooth like someone had pumped him full of chocolate or a Soothing potion. These were Jackson’s notes, Stiles realised suddenly. Of course they were abbreviated a little. It annoyed Stiles for a moment but then he realised he didn’t exactly want to see the kid have a full emotional breakdown, even if it was just a rendition.

“I remember being in… somewhere. In the castle maybe? It was cold. I kept fading in and out. But, uh, I remember a rock. Whoever it was touched this rock that looked like a heart or something. They brought me up these stairs into the Forest. It was dark, really dark. I couldn’t see anyone. There were two voices, a man and a woman. They were talking, not paying attention to me. I couldn’t move. Then, there was this animal nudging me. I thought it was a dog or a wolf at first but I’ve seen Professor Tate transfigured before. She was trying to help me get away but I couldn’t move fast enough. One of them had a sword. I tried to run, I did, but they were coming after me. I heard a lot of barking and growling for a while and I managed hide somewhere. I thought for sure they would do some kind of locator spell or just a summoning or something but they never did. I could hear them searching for me but they gave up around sunrise.” The image of Brett looked up. Stiles knew he was looking at Jackson in the memory but it looked eerily like the boy was looking directly at Stiles, his eyes still scared. “I didn’t hear Professor Tate, though. Is she okay?”

Jackson shut the book with a snap. Brett’s face vanished in a puff. 

Stiles realised his hands were shaking. He stuffed them under his elbow, willing himself to calm down. “Malia might still be alive.”

“I told you we have evidence, didn’t I?” Stiles never really liked the sharp angles to Jackson’s face. He hated them now with the torch light making it unreadable. “We found your robe in the Forest, right where Talbot said he had been hiding. It was covered in enough of her blood to lead us to believe Malia Tate wouldn’t have survived her injuries, especially if she had been a coyote at the time.”

He fixed Stiles with a steady eye as if daring him to protest. Stiles found he couldn’t speak right away. “My robes—I lost it. Yesterday. I went into the Forest—“

“I know,” Jackson said pointedly.

“With Malia,” Stiles’s voice was shaking. “In the afternoon, not at night. We were looking for—There was this fox,” Stiles tried to stem the words as they babbled out of him. “Kira’s fox, Kira Yukimura. Malia stole it, well kind of stole it, okay, actually stole it but she was going to give it back. Then it just escaped and we had to look for it then we got separated, like we always do—Jackson, come on. You’ve known me forever. Do you really think I could kill someone?”

“Ordinarily?” Jackson said. “No. I don’t think you have the stomach for it.”

Stiles knew he should be insulted but all he felt was relief. “See? That’s me, good ol’cowardly Stiles.”

“Ordinarily I would think that,” Jackson continued. “But you have a connection with all the victims.” Stiles tried to think. Sure, he had known Violet. But he didn’t even know the first guy’s name. Jackson was watching him and he continued while Stiles was still puzzling. “Violet was your ex-lover.”

“We were sixteen at the time, I was up to second base with at least half our year at the time.”

“Gerry Whitehead, the victim that was cut in half. His younger brother was in your year and you dated him briefly before he screwed you over and you became the laughingstock of the year.”

Stiles remembered the name and a vaguely pimply Ravenclaw kid came to mind. The kid, he supposed his last name was Whitehead, had stolen him Herbology test answers to share with his housemates in exchange for a few hours in a locked room. The answers had turned out to be from last year’s test, though, and some of the less than stellar students in his class had not realised and bombed the whole class. It had been that screw up that had led to Stiles’s infamous night in the Forest as a revenge ploy from his Housemates. He had only ever told Lydia about that story and it had been while he was very, very drunk and Lydia had been very, very sad. He gritted his teeth and tried to push his anger at Lydia aside for a second. “Again, I think dated is a strong word.”

“You knew where his body was.”

“I did not!” Stiles clenched his fists. 

“You gave Brett Talbot detention not long ago.”

“I’m a teacher,” Stiles felt like he was yelling at the wall. His head started to ache. “He was fighting with another student. I was disciplining.”

“It’s no secret you hated your own House,” Jackson said. “You were vocal enough about it. McCall says you’ve been depressed lately, how do I know that you haven’t just snapped?”

“Scott said that?”

Jackson opened the book again, dragging the feather over a passage like he had expected Stiles’s reaction. The vapor formed Scott’s face, suspicion mapped over it. 

“Well, yeah, I saw him this afternoon. He said was looking for someone’s pet in the Forest with Malia... No, he didn’t look off.” Scott’s face scowled but even Stiles could tell that he was lying through his teeth. “Jackson, you know the guy. He’s just been, you know, a little depressed and he’s been hiding something but he’d never hurt Malia! I just thought he was hooking up with that old guy staying in the Three Broomsticks and he didn’t want me to know…. Well, how should I know? He’s been keeping secrets like that from me since we were kids but it’s always been because he just doesn’t want me to worry…. Come on. Stiles would never hurt a soul.” Despite the words there was a troubled undertone. Stiles felt numb.

“Here’s what I think happened,” Jackson’s voice was steady and he closed the book. “You’ve been unhappy for a while now. You were dissatisfied with your work at the Ministry. Your co-workers said you felt ‘under-appreciated’,” he sounded like he was quoting. Stiles felt cold: How long had Jackson been investigating him? “Your overseer said you didn’t mix well with the group.”

“They were assholes,” Stiles said before he could stop himself. “I mean—they made fun of Lydia, and other people. Why else do you think I left?”

“You came to work here at Deaton’s request,” Jackson continued, ignoring him. “He told me he offered you the job because Scott had been worried about your emotional distance.”

“He claims I’ve always been distant,” Stiles tried to argue. “It’s a character trait, not proof I’ve suddenly become a serial murderer.”

“You came here, maybe you had good intentions. Maybe you hoped this would be your chance to finally fit in somewhere. But it wasn’t quite what you were looking for. You still saw the bullies, the rivalries in the houses. Your students and coworkers still see your department as a joke; you’re not getting the respect you thought you would as a professor.”

“My department’s not a joke,” Stiles said angrily. “And it’s people like you who keep using the word Muggle like it’s garbage that makes it seem like it’s okay. I’m just trying to show the kid that just because it’s not magical doesn’t mean it’s not worth something. It’s important for them to see that!”

Jackson was nodding but it didn’t make Stiles feel like the man was agreeing with him. 

“Hair trigger anger,” the man seemed like he was checking off a mental list. “Not making yourself look good, Stilinski.”

Stiles forced himself calm. He didn’t know why Jackson was coming after him like this. He and Jackson butted heads over Lydia but that was all it was. They both knew that Jackson was her endgame, Stiles had just been a mid-show snack. At least, he had thought Jackson had known that. His face was mostly unreadable but he was a Gryffindor. As angry as he might be with Stiles, deep down he had to have some kind of integrity.

Jackson had seemed to be waiting for Stiles because he continued only when Stiles had relaxed his hands at his sides. “You had a sexual relationship with Malia for a while. I suspect that kept you somewhat happy. But when she broke it off—“ 

“I’m the one that suggested we stop,” Stiles wanted to be clear so he said it as evenly as he could. “She was in love with someone else.”

Jackson’s eyes narrowed but he didn’t response to the interjection. “That was the camel spleen that made the cauldron explode. You were hurting, you felt betrayed by the magical world for not being accepting of your Muggle roots. You contacted Violet, your emotionally disturbed ex-girlfriend who had been recruited into an anti-magical creature protest squad called the Orphans.”

“She was what?” 

“You conspired with her to make the kill look like it was related to Laura Hale’s, a werewolf hate crime.”

“But Laura Hale wasn’t a—“ Stiles started. His voice was surprisingly hoarse. “She was a werewolf?”

“The Hale family is one of the oldest, most secluded Wizarding families,” Jackson rolled his eyes. “Do you really think they would have been so secretive if they didn’t have something to hide?

“I have no idea, Jackson!” the world was tilting beneath him and he lashed out at Jackson in frustration. “I have no idea what the Hales were like. I didn’t grow up with wizard parents shoving lineage down my throat!” His mind went to Derek, frantically going through every interaction. Lydia had said she had a patient, hadn’t she? It made sense it would be Derek, an adult and in close proximity, but Stiles wasn’t sure he had ever seen the two together. 

“You resented that,” Jackson said matter-of-factly. “You spent your whole time at school trying to sleep your way into a Pureblood family but it didn’t work so you decided to get some revenge. You started with Gerry Whitehead because it would be easy. Pureblood, Slytherin, and Violet would be more than willing to help you stage it.”

“I never spoke with Violet,” Stiles felt it was important to keep talking, even if Jackson didn’t seem to care. “I didn’t even know she was around. I haven’t spoken to her since she left Hogwarts.”

“You killed Violet when you realised how obsessed she was with the Orphan’s agenda. You don’t care about werewolves. That was never your angle, after all. Violet was killed to make it look like an animal attack. Maybe you got Malia to help. She trusted you completely after all and you know how to manipulate friendships to get what you want.”

“This is about all those times with Lydia, isn’t it?” Stiles gripped the bars without thinking and jerked back, swearing as they stung again. “I never manipulated her into anything.”

“After Violet we started to dig into her past which did lead us to you,” Jackson’s voice was low but fast. “Maybe you felt the heat so you wanted to try and get us back on the werewolf hate crimes angle. You must have seen Brett’s files when you worked at the Ministry. His family were all Muggles, and their son was a werewolf. Their case parchment was over twenty feet long.”

Stiles knew the parchments he was talking about, the ones that were kept in a locked records room in the Muggle Liaison Office. He knew they called it a lock but it was a flimsy excuse for one. If you tickled it in exactly the right spot it would open and Stiles knew that more than anyone. It wasn’t just Lydia, after all, that he wanted to hide with in dark corners. He hadn’t been in there to read though.

“Malia didn’t like the plan when you told her it was about a student. She and you argued in the Forest in the afternoon. You tried to take her out but she got away somehow. You had to move fast so you took Talbot as soon as you saw your chance. You dragged him into the passage to Hogsmeade and left him somewhere. Then, after lights out, you brought him to the Forest. That’s when Malia found you.”

“It didn’t happen,” Stiles’s head was starting to ache. 

“You screwed up when you left your robe behind,” Jackson said quietly. “We would have never have really connected you to it without that.”

“I didn’t screw up,” Stiles tried for the last time. “Because I didn’t do it.”

“The thing I don’t understand,” Jackson’s voice was steady. “Is who you’re working with. Who is the woman in the woods?”

“This is crazy.” Stiles’s hands hovered just behind the bars. “I swear, I would never lay and hand on Malia. I was trying to help her in the Forest.”

“With the fox,” Jackson said. His eyes narrowed suddenly. “Kira Yukimura’s fox.” He smiled, his face smug. “Thanks.”

“Wait—shit!“ Stiles grabbed the bars and jumped back when they stung. “It couldn’t have been me.”

Jackson paused from where he was turning to leave. “Really?” he raised a skeptical eyebrow. “Tell me you have someone else to back that up?”

“Derek Hale,” Stiles said, his voice grim but desperately glad that at least something good was coming from that disaster. “Ask him, I was with him after lights out.”

Jackson stared hard and Stiles flushed. He was pretty sure Jackson hadn’t been great at Occlumancy when they had been students but a lot had happened since then. He wondered how much Jackson could see and did his best to shield his mind without thinking. The man frowned when he met Stiles’s mental barrier and Stiles suddenly realised it was exactly what a guilty person would do. He hastily let the barrier fall but Jackson was already leaving. 

That had been stupid and Stiles was determined to fix it the next time Auror he saw. They could see everything in his mind if they thought it would help. Hell, Stiles didn’t even care if they wanted to look at the memories he hated most, the awkward fumbling in fourth year when he had no idea what he was doing, the way he was pushed around until he learned to be invaluable. Hell, he would even let them look at the night his mom died, sitting alone by her bed until the monitors went nuts and he had been pulled into the hallway until his father could come. 

Her disease couldn’t be cured by magic, he knew that now. But when he had seen how magic had healed Scott’s asthma he had gotten angry that those kinds of cures were kept hidden. He knew the importance of magical secrecy but if he really thought about it he knew that was his real reason for taking Deaton’s offer. Muggle Liason had been good and all but he was one person trying to push for bills and official orders to pass in the Ministry. Maybe if he could motivate a whole new generation of wizards to want to share—

He shook his head. This wasn’t the time to think about that. He wasn’t going to do anyone any good if he was convicted of murders. 

He sat on his hands to keep them warm as he tried to keep his thoughts from mulling too much.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OMG plooooooot!!!
> 
> Let me know what you guys think! Is Jackson a jackass? Is Malia alive? Where the hell has Kira been this whole time???


	12. Revealed

“This will really work?” Derek looked at the vial skeptically. The pills rattled inside. He didn’t know what he had been expecting. The usual concoctions Lydia made had bubbled and smoked in the cauldron, like a proper potion. This looked like some kind of candy.

 

“Yes,” Lydia looked exhausted but triumphant as she waved her wand over the silver cauldron and cleaned it instantly. “I got the idea from Muggle medicine actually. As you got closer to the full moon, wolf started to surface more, right? The potion needs certain components stronger. I thought making a monthly potion like the Wolfsbane would be enough but we needed something more specific. I mean, you’re a werewolf every day, not just on the full moon right?”

 

Derek nodded. It was true. It was something most people didn’t understand about being a werewolf. It was more than just the transformation, though that was the obvious part. It took a toll not just on his physical body as it suffered through the transformation but also a mental one. He was grateful that Lydia and Cora were close enough that the Potion Master understood that.

 

“It’s just a preliminary test right now,” Lydia had her hands plant on her hips, impatiently tapping her foot. “Based on your previous reactions and, uh, the fact that you seem weakest against the wolf when your mood is _heightened_ —“ Derek glared. “—I made my best guess about what components of the potion you should be taking dependant on the cycle of the moon.”

 

“So the shifting will stop?” Derek asked.

 

“In theory,” Lydia said.

 

“All shifting?” he asked again and she rolled her eyes.

 

“You should be still be able to shift when you want to, even the full transfiguration. But it’s going to take a few weeks it to regulate your system.”

 

“The moon is coming,” Cora looked worried. “Will he be okay for that?”

 

Lydia hesitated but nodded. “It might be harder to control the shift but it shouldn’t be worse than last month. That was okay, right?”

 

Derek remembered that the transformation had been mostly painless and while the wolf had been restless and snappy it hadn’t been hard to negotiate with it. As long as nothing happened to completely upset it he would be fine. He told Lydia and Cora that much and Lydia looked relieved.

 

“From now on just make sure you take the pills just like I told you,” Lydia said. “Blue at first, pink for the five days leading up to the full moon, and green on the three days you would normally transform. Don’t forget or you’ll mess up my data.”

 

He selected a pink pill from the vial and swallowed it so she could see. “Can I go now? Braedon is teaching my classes but she gets bored of the textbook. I’d rather get back before she tries grades-by-combat again.”

 

Lydia waved him off as she, Cora and Erica, who had been smirking since Lydia had mentioned moon cycles, turned back to the calculations Lydian was making in a large book.

 

He looked at his hand while he walked, flexing it. He willed claws from it and grinned when he could recall them smoothly with little concentration. Lydia had said the potion would take a while but he imagined he could feel it already in his body. He had confidence in Lydia and that alone made him confident in his control. Mind of matter, that’s what his mother had said, and as long as he had faith he could stop himself, at least for the time being, that should be enough to keep the tickling on the back of his hands at bay when the moon rose tomorrow.

 

Lunch had long passed and he ducked out of the tapestry already deciding he could make a quick stop by the kitchens before his class. Instead, he heard a heartbeat around the corner. He paused and sharpened his nose. It was a man who he often smelled on Lydia’s robes, probably the fiancé he had never met. He was an Auror, Derek knew, though he wasn’t usually at the castle. Clearly he was waiting for something because he was alone and unmoving but Lydia hadn’t mentioned anything about him being here today. Slowly, he rounded the corner.

 

The man looked frustrated and was muttering at an orb. When he looked up and saw Derek he glowered harder.

 

“I’ve been walking around this hallway for half an hour,” he was obviously cross but Derek couldn’t gauge why. He raised his eyebrows and crossed his arms in front of his chest as the man pocketed the orb and strode towards him. “The map Deaton gave me told me you were here but unless there’s some kind of secret door—“

 

“There is,” Derek said, not willing to give away anymore. “Why were you looking for me?”

 

“Auror business,” the man grabbed Derek’s elbow in a firm grip and tried to steer him down toward the stairs that led out of the wing. Derek planted his feet and the man jerked to a halt. He paused, finally looking at Derek for real for the first time. “I have some questions for you. About the recent murders in the woods.”

 

It wasn’t the first time Aurors had shown up at their door with questions about this or that. Family secrets meant nothing when the werewolf registry was open reading for most Aurors. “What about? Your guys already questioned me when you found the first guy. My keeper too,” Derek said the word with distaste. “I thought you at least would take her word if not mine.”

 

“She definitely looks real truth-worthy,” the man scoffed but continued without pause. “It’s not about you,” his face was a little red. There was a sharp, spicy scent. Derek let his nose chase it a bit before he realised this was what anger was, if anger could be palatable. “It has to do with Stilinski.”

 

Derek followed the man down the stairs into a private room. Jackson, he had finally introduced himself tersely as he had gestured Derek to one of the chairs, sat down and opened up a book. A quill leapt from the bindings and hovered over a blank page.

 

“Derek Hale,” Jackson said clearly, watching as it scribbling down the words, date and time. “I’m going to ask some test questions.” This time the words were directed at Derek. He nodded though it never really mattered if he consented or not.

 

“What is your full name?”

 

“Derek Samuel Hale,” Derek watched the quill rather than Jackson as it scratched over the page.

 

“And what is your occupation?”

 

Derek hesitated for a moment because it was still a little strange to answer that question. It was hard to be employed as a werewolf, after all, and he had spent most of his life living off his family’s wealth. “Professor of Defense Against the Dark Arts at Hogswarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.”

 

“How long have you been teaching?”

 

“About two years.”

 

“And previous to that?”

 

“Unemployed. i interned with the Ministry for a while though."

 

The questions were straightforward: what House had he been in, was he married or not, any children and so on. He fumbled confused when they got a little strange, asking his favourite Bernie Botts Bean flavour and whether he preferred fuchsia to lime green robes, but Jackson finally seemed satisfied.

 

“What is your relationship with Professor Stilinski?”

 

Derek paused and gripped his knees under the table. “We’re co-workers.”

 

The ink changed to maroon instead of the smoky grey and Jackson frowned. “Would you care to elaborate?”

 

“We’ve been co-workers for two years,” Derek repeated and added, “We’ve seen each other socially too.”

 

The quill seemed satisfied with that. “How would you describe your relationship?”

 

Derek didn’t see how this was helping anyone. “Friendly?” The quill’s colour wobbled dangerously. “Complicated.”

 

Jackson nodded, studying Derek’s face hard. “I see he made you get Facebook too.”

 

“I don’t see how it’s any of your business,” Derek said and crossed his arms. “Or what this has to do with the murders.”

 

“Were you with Professor Stilinski last night?” Jackson said with no infliction. Derek felt his face heat up. The pen started to scratch louder.

 

“Yes,” he said with gritted teeth. “I met him at his office last night after lights out. We,” he paused and clenched his jaw harder. “We hung out.”

 

“So that’s what the kids are calling it these days,” Jackson said dryly. “What time is lights out?”

 

“About ten,” Derek said. Anger was bubbling up in him now; the man was irritating with his knowing smirk. Derek’s skin felt like it was hot and tight, he didn’t want to know what colour his face was. “I left around midnight.”

 

Jackson let out an impressed whistle through his teeth. “Two hours? I guess his stamina had improved.”

 

Derek went to reply but he realised the skin on his arms wasn’t just hot. It was itchy. With horror, he realised his teeth were lengthening in his mouth. Lydia hadn’t been kidding when she had said the pills would take a few days to even things out. Fortunately, Jackson had looked down and started to write extra notes with the quill manually. Derek hunched over so his arms were hidden by the wooden table. He tried to breathe deep and draw the fangs back into his gums.

 

“What did Stilinski seem like when you got there?” Jackson released the quill and looked up. He frowned but if Derek’s face had changed he didn’t say anything. The sharp teeth finally started to retreat. “Did he look preoccupied, like he was hiding something?”

 

To be fair, he had. Derek had heard some scrambling and what sounded like a door opening in the office when the jeep had honked his arrival. When Stiles had finally answered he had looked a little out of breath. At the time, Derek hadn’t thought much of it. He had been nervous too.

 

“No,” he said when he could run his tongue over smooth, dull human teeth again. The quill shifted colours and Derek corrected. “It was our first time to, to meet like that. I think we were both preoccupied.”

 

Jackson studied him again but didn’t comment. “Do you often meet people like that?”

 

Derek was glad he was already forcibly holding his anger in check or the implication would have made him shift completely. “No.”

 

“Because you’re with Professor Braedon.”

 

“What?” Derek sputtered. “No! She’s my goddamn Watcher.”

 

“You can chose to not have one."

 

“We chose to have them because we were tired of your Ministry questioning our motives every time someone sneezes wrong,” Derek curled his lip in anger. “Though clearly not even following that stupid guideline works if you’re here.”

 

“I’m sorry if you feel the maintaining the safety of the general population is an invasion of your privacy,” Jackson said but to Derek’s surprise the words were hollow, like they were being recited, instead of mocking.

 

For a Ministry interrogation this was fairly mild. Derek had almost lost his temper but Jackson had backed off, gave him some space to calm down before starting to find his hot temper buttons again. It was a little strange. Most of the time Aurors tried for those triggers and exploited them relentlessly until Derek found himself stumbling over his words.

 

Werewolves were violent, prone to fits of anger, or so Derek had been told his whole life. He spent most of these interviews keeping calm, not raising his voice no matter how much he wanted to, no matter how many times they poked and prodded at him. If he ever did show anything beyond annoyance it always ended with the same knowing smirk and insincere apology for having provoked ‘one of his kind’.

 

Curious, he met Jackson’s eyes. “Stiles and I—we weren’t like that. Not yet, in any case. The last serious relationship I was in was with Kate Argent.”

 

Jackson blinked at the name. “Kate Argent—as in the Kate Argent who is still reported as missing in France?”

 

“Yes,” Derek kept his answered clipped.

 

“That one is still up on the boards at the Ministry,” Jackson said. “I wrote my final paper on Kate for my graduate thesis.”

 

Derek raised an eyebrow. “You’re interested in missing squibs?”

 

“Allison was in my year,” Jackson said. “I met Kate when I was little. It wasn’t every day you get to meet a squib, especially from that Pureblood of a family. You know, you lived in our neighbourhood before the Argents left for France to look for her.”

 

“I lived there until my entire family was killed in a house fire, yeah,” Derek said dryly and Jackson had the good grace to look chastised.

 

“I was ten when Kate went missing. You were, what? Sixteen?”

 

“Fifteen,” Derek said, regretting that he had ever mentioned her name. At Jackson’s look he added, “She was twenty-three.”

 

Jackson leaned back. Derek was a little satisfied at the shock on the man’s face. It felt good to be dealing the punches, no matter how much he didn’t want to talk about it. “But you were never in the case file,” Jackson said slowly like he was trying to figure something out. “I spent weeks reading those, you were never mentioned.”

 

Derek shrugged passively and focused on the wood inlay beyond Jackson’s shoulder. “I had an alibi. And I never told anyone,” he added. The quill flashed colours and Derek made a face. “Except my uncle.”

 

“What kind of alibi?”

 

“About half a dozen med-witches, wizards and nurses at St. Murgo’s. I was taking care of my uncle and little sister.” Jackson looked confused and Derek took a small bit of pity on the man. “Kate went missing right after the fire.”

 

Right after the fire—perhaps that was a bit strong. Right after the fire was a bit of a haze. The Headmaster had roused Derek and Laura that morning before breakfast. It had been a full moon so they had spent the night in a room off the infirmary so they could suffer through the bone-crunching transformation in secret. Derek had been in pain, his joints aching from where they had broken and splintered, the Wolfsbane potion healing them slowly. They had sat in his office until Aurors, Cora trembling and terrified at their side, Flooed in. Laura had held her while Derek a numbness settled over him as the Aurors spoke.

 

The entire family had gathered for Christmas, the first time that all the Hales had been together in one place in at least five years. Derek and Laura had been delayed at the school or they would have been there too, along with all their cousins who had left earlier. It had been the full moon and his mother had always been strict about locking everyone in using mountain ash around the house. Cora had been young at the time, too young for her magic to be predictable or bound by laws of magic. It was always that way with young witches and wizards, at least until they turned about eleven and could start molding it to their will. She had been at the back of the room when the explosion had rocked the house and had managed to flee upstairs. Her terror had thrown her through the fourth floor window and mountain ash barrier like they were nothing and she had bounced safely when she hit the ground.

 

Peter had survived too, though the Aurors called it plain dumb luck. The man had been fighting with Derek’s mother and had refused to join the pack for the transformation in the main hall. He had been found later, shifted back and badly burned at the back of the house. Derek remembered Laura crying in relief. At the time it meant there was still someone old enough to take charge of the family but Derek had only felt angry at the man for not saving the others.

 

Laura had gone back to school after the winter holidays, determined to finish her NEWTs as quickly as possible. She came back on the weekends, trying her best to make things normal but Derek had been too locked in his own grief to appreciate it. Derek just took the self-study packets the professors sent along, practicing without much enthusiasm in Peter’s hospital room with Cora looking on.

 

It was a hard and dark time; Derek only remembered flashes of it sometimes. Kate had given him a two-way mirror before he had left for school and they had talked nearly every single day. He hadn’t remembered to look at it until after Christmas. She had covered it, barely replying any more but Derek could hardly blame her. He wasn’t the same person as before the fire and it felt silted to try and talk to her as if he was. Peter, well enough to move around the hospital room and snoop, had found out when he discovered the mirror tucked into Derek’s school books.

 

It had been around that time when Kate had disappeared. He remembered that part vividly. It had been all over the newspaper and hospital. Derek had been writing a Potion essay and Cora had been playing Exploding Snaps on the ground when Gerard Argent, Kate’s father, had been Portkeyed in. Derek had heard him shouting even three doors down and Aurors were positioned outside of his room for a week straight. Derek had looked for the mirror but it was nowhere to be found. He had asked Peter and the man had shrugged before asking Derek to see if the nurse would mind upping his painkillers for the day, the Argent man had been giving him a headache.

 

Derek still didn’t know if Peter had anything to do with Kate’s disappearance, though it seemed unlikely he could do much from the hospital bed still recovering from his wounds. Before he could ask though, Laura gone missing and Derek had felt a whole new kind of agony.

 

“Even with an alibi you should have said something.” Jackson jolted him back to reality. Derek blinked dry eyes.

 

“Yeah,” Derek couldn’t keep the sarcasm out of his voice. “Definitely. I should have definitely told the Aurors that I, an underage and traumatized _werewolf_ , had been sleeping with the missing woman at the time. That would have gone over really well.” Derek gave him a glare. “I would be in the basement of Azkaban before the ink dried on the arrest warrant.”

 

Jackson looked embarrassed, so at least Derek knew the man understood the way the system worked, but he squared his jaw in pig-like determination. “Justice—“

 

“Doesn’t serve us all,” Derek finished firmly. “Are those all your questions or do you want to drag up more childhood horrors?”

 

“Let me just make sure I have my notes correct,” Jackson muttered and pulled the notebook close to him. The quill jumped off the page so he could read. “Yesterday you and Stilinski were together from ten o’clock to midnight in his office.”

 

“Yes.”

 

“And you’ll testify that in front of a tribunal council?”

 

“Yes,” Derek said less sure of himself. “Why is that so important?”

 

“Because if what you're saying is true--”

 

“It is,” Derek curled his lip so his teeth showed.

 

“Then we still have a time frame were Stilinski is unaccounted for,” there was a change in Jackson’s voice as he snatched the pen from its writing before it could jot more down. He closed the book with a snap. “And it’s a pretty damning time frame.”

 

“Damning?” Derek echoed, suddenly feeling as if he had been duped even though he had only answered what Jackson had asked. “Damning for what?”

 

“I can’t discuss details about ongoing cases,” Jackson stood, tucking the book into his robes. “Thank you for your co-operation, Professor Hale.”

 

There was no time for food now but the queasy feeling in his stomach dashed away any appetite. Braedon was already scheduled to watch over his classes so, her questionable teaching methods aside, he ducked into his own rooms instead of going to take over his classes like he had told Lydia. He shifted onto all fours, grateful it was still easy and effortless. It was easier to smell this way and the side that wanted to hunt was pacified easily when he tried to sort out Stiles’s scent from all the others milling around the castle.

 

The halls were still free from students as he worked his way through the school, pausing to sort out fresher scents from old ones and grimacing when he smelled things he really didn’t want to know about.

 

He found Stiles’s freshest scent in a staircase leading up from the dungeons. He followed it in a straight line. It was strong and tinged with salty worry and anxiety. Derek felt himself whine involuntarily before he could stop. Resolutely, he continued until the trail came to a head outside of the Headmaster’s office. The fur along his neck stood on end as there was a sharp spike, the residual smell of adrenaline making his own heart pound. Unmindful of his surroundings, he pressed his nose to the floor trying to make sense of it.

 

“Professor Hale.”

 

The voice made him jump, instinct making him flee a few steps to the side before stopping. The Headmaster stood calmly in front of the entrance to his office, clearly just leaving. His arms were crossed as he looked down with a small smile. “I see Professor Martin has gotten further along in her research than she had let on.”

 

Derek wearily circled. Part of him was trying to move on with the hunt, Stiles’s scent strong and distressing. The other part, the part that was employed and grateful for the status that granted, forced him to stay. “Come in. It won’t do to have rumours of a Grim wandering around the school.”

 

Reluctantly, Derek followed the man up the staircase. He had been in the Headmasters office before and it looked the same as usual. The walls were crammed with portraits of past Headmaster in ornate frames. Between them were tall shelves filled with herbs and spices. Before he had been Headmaster Deaton has taught Herbology and it was easy to tell from the hundreds of plants that grew around the office making the air feel heavy and sweet. It was the first time for Derek to be here as a wolf as the scent of so many flowers and living things was almost overwhelming.

 

“There’s a trunk through there that will have suitable clothes,” Deaton was moving towards his desk and gestured to a door off to the side. Derek trotted over, muttered mentally that he was in a hurry and didn’t particularly want to talk so there was no need to transform back. Still, the man did sign for his monthly Gringott’s deposit. He saw the trunk in a corner and Derek had to transform back just to open it. A row of neatly folded Ravenclaw uniforms greeted him. He frowned, they were clearly uniforms meant for a girl student and they looked like they would barely fit his bicep.

 

“Uh?” Derek wondered if he should call for help when Deaton sighed from the other room.

 

“Tap on the top if it’s being stubborn,” he advised. “The last person who needed it was a first year who fell into a pond.”

 

Derek closed and tapped it like the Headmaster had said and this time when he opened it the clothes looked much more suitable. However, instead of robes and such like he expected, Muggles clothes were stacked. He pulled out underwear and jeans, a soft long sleeved maroon V-neck, socks and dark leather boots. It was strange but it all fit well and he was surprised to realise he didn’t miss the robes. He pulled on the last item, a leather jacket that settled on his shoulders like a second skin, and went back into the main office.

 

Deaton didn’t say anything about the clothes as Derek settled into the chair opposite the desk.

 

“I meant to warn you about Jackson,” he said, folding his hands in front of him. “He’s a good kid but a little intense when he thinks he’s doing the right thing.”

 

Derek shot Deaton a look that he felt expressed exactly how he felt about Jackson and the other man chuckled.

 

“Poor Miss Yukimura is next on his list. That poor girl is going to be shaking in her boots.”

 

Derek grunted, not concerned about a girl he barely knew. “Where the hell is Stiles? What happened last night?”

 

The usually calm, relaxed face of the Headmaster pinched along the brow. “I was hoping you could tell me.”

 

Derek found himself feeling passive as the Headmaster started to explain about Brett Talbot. He listened as the Headmaster got to the part about Malia and the blood, hurt and pain grabbing at him from the memory of Laura in the woods but that was all. He barely knew Professor Tate, though he found that she often smell like Stiles and it made him irrationally irritated. He was about to snap at the Headmaster to get to the point but the man, seeing Derek's growing impatience, finally settled down his tea.

 

“The robe that was found unfortunately belongs to Professor Stilinski,” the Headmaster was watching him carefully. Derek put his years of forced patience into practice and kept his face from twitching. “Now, if you have any reason to believe the professor was elsewhere last night,” Deaton paused expectantly but Derek kept his mouth tightly closed. The Headmaster sighed a little. “I'm under the impression that any information would be extremely helpful for Professor Stilinski.”

 

“I told Jackson all I knew,” Derek said, truthful because he _had_ cooperated, even if he hadn't wanted to. It didn't mean he had to tell the Headmaster. His mind was racing though. Stiles had been nervous and Derek was sure he had heard a door inside the office opening and closing before he had let Derek in, as if he had been hiding something or maybe even someone. However, Derek had smelled that room, a little too closely though he wouldn't admit that to anyone, and there hadn't been a scent that anyone had been there recently. Besides that, Derek had been Stiles shuffle and sweat when he had helped Brett into the hospital wing. Brett had been conscious and helping. There was no way Stiles could have dragged the boy out unconscious as Brett had claimed without either someone noticing or a lightening charm of some kind, which Stiles had said countless times was impossible in the office and unpredictable in surrounding areas. Besides all of that, there was something wrong about the idea. He may not know Stiles as well as he wanted to but he was certain he knew enough to be sure the man wouldn't hurt someone like that.

 

The Headmaster was looking at him, a knowing smirk in his eye, and Derek felt a growing annoyance that the man seemed to know what he was thinking. Derek was grateful the wolf provided at least some protection from Occulmancy.

 

“Is that all you asked me in for?” Derek said, letting some of the annoyance seep into his voice.

 

“No,” Deaton's face sobered. “Derek, there's something I've been meaning to tell you. Something about your sister.”

 

Derek refused to acknowledge tight feeling in his chest. “What about her?”

 

“The weekend that she went missing,” Deaton almost seemed to hesitate before continuing. “She had been worried.”

 

Derek wanted to mention that he knew that, that Laura had been a worrier before the fire. She worried about whether Derek was going to finish his homework, she worried about exams, she worried that the house elves were overworked. When she had left he had tried too hard to fill those shoes and had driven Cora away as a result. Finally he said, “She Flooed us to be careful.”

 

“I mean she had been worried for a long time,” Deaton corrected. “She had been coming to see me in the afternoons, talking about this and that. She seemed to be going through a great deal of pain.”

 

No shit _,_ Derek couldn't help but think bitterly. Out loud he just grunted in acknowledgement.

 

“Her main concern, though, was for you,” he said slowly. Derek wasn't surprised by this either. Laura had a way of putting everyone in front of her, even when she had been younger. He remembered hating the way she seemed like a pushover at school and how it had felt following in her footsteps. “She was worried about Kate Argent.”

 

Derek frozen. He had never told her about Kate. Deaton seemed to have gotten the reaction he wanted because he grinned grimly. “She seemed to think Kate Argent had something to do with the fire.”

 

His mind felt like it was racing. Kate and the fire? It seemed unlikely. She and Derek had been drawn to each other in the way people who didn't fit into niches were. She was a squib and often hidden away by her family, Derek struggled with the recovery from the transformations and spent most of his time with his own kind. Though Kate hadn't known he was a werewolf she had probably seen the same kind of loneliness in him that she had herself. Why would she have any reason to hurt his family?

 

“As you know Lycanthropy affects a person's magic. It makes them immune to certain spells and able to withstand regular potions better than the average wizard.” Derek nodded uncertainly. “And then you know that it also helps magic itself develop in young wizards. Young Brett Talbot, in his case, probably would never have been able to cast more than a few unnoticeable charms such as lightening a heavy box or starting the engine of a stubborn car, if he had never been bitten. What do you know of Squib's magic?”

 

Kate hadn't exactly spoke at length about her non-magic, just about the emotional toll it took. Deaton read his confusion in his silence. “Very few people have no magic, especially Muggles though they may never happen upon it their whole lives. The only difference between wizards and Muggle is how much control they need to master over it. People with very little, such as Squibs or your average Muggle, don't need to worry about that kind of thing. Wizards, people who have the potential to cause a lot of harm without proper discipline, are recognized and invited to the various wizarding schools around the world. Some families, such as the Stilinski family, produce a person with enough magic every few generations. Others, such as the Argent family, almost consistently produce witches and wizards who are greatly talented. However, sometimes even families like the Argent's will have a person born with so little magic there is nothing to teach them. Kate was such a person.”

 

That seemed to make sense enough but Derek wasn't sure why Deaton was telling him this.

 

“A funny thing happens when a person is so fundamentally different from the rest of their family. They either learn to bridge those gaps or it drives them to measures that can't be understood by people who aren't in that situation. Kate found out about your family's history she saw a way to finally fit into the family like she thought she was supposed to.”

 

“She wanted the Bite,” Derek felt a shiver down his spine.

 

“She wanted power,” Deaton said. “And she didn't care at whose expense.”

 

“It's illegal to Bite someone,” Derek said slowly as the rules his mother had drilled into him since his first Transformation ran like a mantra in his mind. “Even if she wanted it, Biting her would mean--” he broke off, remembering the horror stories he had heard about werewolf tortured into confession by Aurors and locked in the worst levels of Azkaban to overpower the wolf.

 

“A Bite from an Alpha wolf has the best chance of turning someone,” Deaton said. “Your mother refused and Kate punished her for it.”

 

Derek struggled as he thought. Kate hadn't known he was a werewolf-- had she? Maybe it had been a little obvious how he had always cancelled their secret meeting in the summer right after the full moon, or how much he had craved her before. He supposed he had _thought_ he had been covering it up well but for someone who had grown up in a Pureblood family-- bile rose in his throat. He had told her about the family dinner. He had told her he and Laura were delayed because the charms on the overused ancient Floo grate had to be recast. The Aurors had suspected the Floo had exploded when someone had tried to Floo a package of herbs and potions normally fatal for werewolves. Usually he Floo was guarded against that kind of attack but with the charms down and Kate being the only person to know that it could only mean one thing.

 

It had been Derek's fault.

 

Deaton was talking. “She contacted Laura before she went missing. With Laura being the new Alpha she must have thought she would have a second chance. Laura refused her as well and that's when Laura started looking closer at the fire. When Kate Argent went missing she thought things would be alright but she came to tell me her story and the next day she, well, you know what happened. If you wouldn't mind switching to the blue chair, Derek? I'm rather fond of the upholstery on that one.”

 

Derek didn't need to look to know that his claws were out and gouging at the soft fabric of the chair he was sitting on. He didn't care, and moved on clumsy, half shifted joints to the blue chair, his claws snagging on that one too. He knew his face was a lost cause, ridged brow protruding and razor sharp fangs cutting through the sides of his tongue as he struggle to keep his transformation at just that.

 

If Deaton was worried he didn't look it. He waited until Derek could get his ragged panting under control. Slowly, the overpowering thumping of his heart that was drowning out every other sound slowed. He knew he was shaking and it took a while for that to subside. Anger, rage, grief and unchecked sorrow felt like it was bursting from his body. Carefully, he collected all of those emotion and laid them smooth under his skin until it was like burning hot coals.

 

“She didn't want you to know,” Deaton was looking at him with hooded eyes, carefully rationing out his words. “She didn't think it was your fault, Derek.”

 

Derek hardly recognized the snarling voice that came out of his mangled vocal cords. “She doesn't have a say in it anymore.”

 

Deaton chose to not respond. “I think Kate Argent is back and is framing Professor Stilinski.”

 

He involuntarily snarled at the mention of her name but then a very strange thing happened. When Deaton mentioned Stiles something seemed to... shift. Only instead of shifting further and the disturbing crunching sound of his limbs transforming further it felt like things were shifting _back._ The blood red tint to the world disappeared from his vision. Deaton was smiling grimly.

 

“I need you to find her. If you do then we can clear Mr. Stilinski's name and stop these killings. I don't know why Kate is back or why she's murdering these people in cold blood but it has to stop.” Derek nodded with a quick jerk and went to stand when Deaton stopped him with a half raised hand. “We need her alive.”

 

Derek was no stranger to murderous feelings, he had coped with having a mindless, frothing beast sharing his body since he had hit puberty, but he had never murdered anyone before. He didn't realise until Deaton said it that murder was exactly what he had been intending to do. He felt like someone had trickled ice water down his back and it was followed with a shameful fear.

 

This time Derek nodded slowly and Deaton relaxed slightly. Derek focused, shifting completely onto all fours, and then loped out of the room.

 


	13. Fox and the Grim

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whoooo next chapter! In the home stretch guys, I promise!

            It was probably because of the closeness of the full moon but this time when Derek did a full shift the wolf felt closer to the surface than ever. It wasn't as calm as it had been before but there was a focused edge instead of just pure instinct. The wolf wanted to find Stiles.

 

            Derek pulled it off the fresh scent and it whined, an ache in his body that he wanted to give into. But this was important, he tried to argue with that side of him. Finding Stiles in holding would help nothing. Finding Kate, on the other hand, would open a lot more doors.

 

            He slunk through the castle and dodged students and other professors when he needed it. Before long he found himself outside of the walls and eager to give a chase.

 

            Deaton had told Derek approximately where the robes had been found. Derek decided to start there. In human form the Forest looked dark and foreboding. As a wolf, however, Derek moved easily. All the shadows his dim human senses had flinched at where bright with the scents and sounds of what lived in them. Derek had spent a few nights here, running around on the Wolfsbane potion before Lydia had started experimenting on him, but never had he felt so at ease.

 

            A dark green bird burst from some bushes and Derek chased it thirty feet before he grabbed hold of himself. The wolf snorted, disgruntled at its fun being taken away, but Derek firmly guided them back on track. He couldn't get distracted, he could let Kate get away. The wolf settled down at that reasoning.

 

            Or at least, it would have if the wind hadn't shifted and a new scent drifted right in front of Derek's nose. It wasn't a bird this time. Saliva watered Derek's mouth as the wolf smelled human.

 

            No, he ordered it firmly as he thought. It wasn't Kate. His wolf had that scent imprinted deeply. It was female though. Derek remembered that there had been someone helping Kate, but he was sure Deaton had said it had been a man. It might be nothing, just someone from Hogsmeade wandering too close to the edge or it might be student who thought going into the Forest would be a laugh. Giving how close he was to the castle he guessed the latter. With an angry sigh, Derek turned and trotted in the direction of the scent. If it was a student then he was going to show them just how dangerous the Forest could be.

 

           They weren't far and Derek paused and crouched in a shadow to get a better look. It wasn't a student, he noticed with surprise. He had seen the woman around the castle, she was someone's daughter though he didn't really pay attention to who. He remembered her seeing her out of the corners of his eyes, in the library or walking with books through the hallway. She had always looked harmless but now she was hefting a large sword and looked anything but. She was distracted as she fussed with a leather pouch and he took his chance.

 

            Snarling, he let the wolf closer, fangs barred as he moved into sight. The woman jumped, dropping her pouch but keeping a firm hold on her weapon. Derek snapped his teeth, giddily happy at the way darkened foam drooled from his mouth. The woman was fixated on his teeth too so he kept them visible and glinting as he growled again and moved closer. Her sword went up.

 

            “I've got no quarrel with you,” her hands were steady but her voice quivered. “Shoo!”

 

            Derek had to keep from rolling his eyes. Did she think she could reason with a creature in this Forest? Derek kept his distance, the sword looked sharp.

 

            “I really don't have time for this,” the woman muttered under her breath as she flicked her eyes away from his teeth and seemed to take in Derek's size as well. He made sure to extend his claws as far as possible. She winced. “Alright, if you insist.”

 

            She moved her sword and Derek dodged instinctively before he realised she wasn't moving to attack him. Instead she moved it almost like a wand and Derek heard her say a spell though he didn't catch the words. Suddenly, it felt like his bones turned to liquid. He collapsed on pine needles as his body flopped like a plastic bag of jelly and to his irritation it started to shift back to human.

 

            The woman covered her mouth with one hand in surprise as Derek's body flopped and shifted until he was fully human lying prone on the ground. Derek was just grateful the clothes Deaton had given him had shifted too.

 

            “Oh my Merlin, Professor Hale!” the woman sheathed her sword and scrambled until she was kneeling by his head. She went to reach for him but snatch her hands back, hovering them over his body. “Oh, Merlin, I'm so sorry!”

 

            Derek struggled to lift his arms but they just flailed weakly against the ground. He couldn't believe he had just been downed by a Jelly Leg Jinx. Thank God Braedon and Cora weren’t here. He’d never hear the end of it.

 

            “If I had known it was you-- I didn't know you were an Animagus,” she babbled and covered her mouth again. “Please don't tell my dad.”

 

            “Cast the countercurse,” Derek struggled to say as his jaw wobbled and nearly bit his tongue. It was definitely a Jelly-Leg but he had never seen it affect this much of someone's body before, especially not his. She understood though because she reached into her robes for her wands and waved her wand over him saying the spell.

 

            Instantly his bones stiffened inside his body. He sat up and pushed her questing hands away. They both stood, Derek hiding his embarrassment by shaking needles off his clothes and Kira fumbling to fix her wand and sword. Derek saw her slide the wand into a slit of the hilt. That would explain the extra power, he thought wearily. He had heard about metals that enhanced magic but he had never really seen it.

 

            “So, sorry, again,” she continued as she started wringing her hand in front of her. “Are you okay?”        

 

            Derek ignored her and plucked at the leather jacket. He had heard his fair share about spelled wardrobes and Clothes of Necessity but this confirmed it. As long as they were needed, whatever clothes he had taken from the Headmaster wouldn’t disappear. That would have been incredibly useful back in school when he woke up from a full moon transformation a good mile away from where he was supposed to be, he thought sourly.

 

            “Professor Hale?” He finally looked up and glared at her.

 

            “You shouldn't be casting jinxes on things if you don't know what they are,” he snapped. “Especially with something like that,” he pointed at the sword.

 

            To his surprise, she clenched her jaw. “You should be going around attacking human when your Animagus looks like a werewolf. If I were a student I would have been terrified.”

 

            “If you were a student I would be giving you detention with Professor Bradeon until winter holidays,” he said. He wasn't about to correct her on the Animagus thing. “You're not supposed to be out here anyway. I should report you to the Aurors.”

 

            She flushed at that. “I'd really rather not have to talk to them again. And besides, what about you?”

 

            Yukimura, Derek remembered Deaton's comment about Jackson's next interrogation. He stretched his memory until he found her first name. “I'm the Dark Arts Professor,” he said with a certain amount of smugness. “I'm investigating something for the Headmaster. Why don't you want to talk to the Aurors again? Do you have something you want to hide from them, Kira?”

 

            She bit her lip and Derek could hear her heart start to beat faster. “If I-- If I show you something will you just ignore this whole thing? You go one way, I go the other and we never speak of this-- ever?”

 

            Derek held his silence for a moment before nodding slightly. With a deep breath, she reached down to recover her leather pouch. She reached in and pulled out a flat, dark coloured oblong stone. Not a stone, Derek looked closer, but what almost looked like a dagger. She held it carefully in her right hand and then without warning she drew it across her left palm. Bright red blood oozed out of the wound and she grimaced as she gripped the handle with both hands.

 

            The hairs along Derek's arms rose, a prickling sensation over every part of his body as anything small and not attached to something rose a few inches above the ground. A crackle of what looked like lightning ran over Kira's body as she concentrated on her clasped hands. Derek took a few steps back blindly as the light finally seemed to reach a climax. He had to close his eyes and there was a distinct pop sound. The energy that had been gathering vanished and Derek cautiously opened his eyes.

 

            Twigs and pine needles had been pushed away like a ball of wind had rested on the ground. On the small patch of bare dirt sat a small red fox. Derek gaped at it and Kira barked.

 

            The dagger was on the ground next to her feet. Derek couldn't smell blood anymore. He went to pick it up but Kira placed her front paw on the handle and in the blink of an eye she was human again, sitting cross-legged on the Forest floor.

 

            “Some kitsune masters can do it without the theatrics,” she said. “But I only did a one year program.”

 

            “Kitsune?” Derek echoed still trying to wrap his mind around what had happened. Kira stood and twirled the dagger nervously in her hands.

 

            “It's a Japanese fox demon. Maybe you know kappas or something, they stowed away in ships and stuff so there are a few infestations around. But kitsune like their shrines, and they can transform into humans so they're not any different then, like, goblins or elves or something.”

 

            Derek's mind brought up a few references he had come across when he had been in school. He had never cared that much, creatures that lives across the globe hadn't really been relevant to him, so fortunately Kira didn't mind explaining.

 

            “If you study long enough you can make these tails,” she held up the dagger. “It's blood magic so most wizards don't like it but it's really not dangerous. See?” she showed her left palm that was wound free. “And you have to use your own blood anyway for it to work so it's not like you're hurting anyone.”

 

            “The tails help you transform?” Derek asked. His hands were itching to look at it closer.

 

            “Yes,” she said and handed it over without hesitation. “It takes a lot of training and effort to make them but they act like a catalyst. My blood activates it and when I touch it again it break the spell. That's my main one,” she said as Derek turned it over. It felt like normal metal in his hands and he handed it back. “I've got another that I'm working on but that one is a bit... louder. I usually practice in the Forest so I don't destroy the castle.”

 

            Derek wanted to ask how a transformation would be big enough to harm a castle with the kinds of protection spells Hogwarts had but he didn't have time. “You still shouldn't be practising here, now especially.”

 

            “I wasn't practising,” Kira insisted. “I'm... tracking someone.”

 

            Derek's eyes narrowed. “Who?”

 

            There was a pinkish tint to her face. “Professor Tate.”

 

            “Did the Headmaster ask you too?”

 

            Kira shook her head at that. There was a new scent wafting off of her and to Derek’s embarrassment he realised exactly what it was. He cleared his throat uncomfortably. It didn’t really matter why she was looking for Tate then. All it mattered was that he had been wasting his time.

 

            “Fine,” Derek said. “Do what you want. I’ve got my own scents.”

 

            He shifted back and leapt back into the trees before she could say anything else. He flattened out his pace as much as he could as he felt more than heard the electrical forces gathering in the clearing again. If she thought she could take care of herself then fine, he thought, angry that he had stopped. She was looking for a dead woman, Derek pushed aside any sadness he might feel for Professor Tate who had had not known very well. What mattered now was that no one else would get hurt, not another student or another werewolf and especially not Stiles. The wolf’s heart thumped in approval at that.

 

            He pushed his body harder, bounding off tree trunks and rocks, his claws leaving deep gouges as he focused on speed over anything else. Deaton had told him that the robe and site where the Aurors had investigated was close by a grove Derek knew well. It would have been a good place to hold a prisoners, he though as he approached, slowing though he couldn’t pick up any signs that anything human was still there. There was a small creek that ran down the slope to feed into the lake much further off. The incline was steep enough that several small animal burrows in the roots of the old trees, which had meant good eating for the wolf, but mostly the loose dirt and undergrowth had meant it was a soft place to rest and cool off when the wolf finally ran out of steam near the end of the night. There was an outcropping of rock that was covered in a fragrant bush and Derek sat next to it as he breathed everything that had happened in the grove.

 

            There was old blood, probably a week or so ago, of a woman. Dead and left to rot for at least a day, he estimated. He didn’t know the smell. Other tracks, dozens of Aurors probably criss crossed over everything. Lydia had been here, though probably not for a while. Brett Talbot—Derek smelled him too, much more recent. He focused on that for a moment, noting where he had probably lain for a while before his trail staggered off in the direction of the village. He moved to that spot and narrowed his nose on it.

 

            There. If Deaton hadn’t said anything the familiarly of the scent would have probably bother Derek for days. He knew how Kate smelled all too well but he had given her up for dead so long ago he would have never made the connection. He growled before he could stop himself, anger welling up as the scent brought back memories of the park near their houses, of Kate talking, laughing, smirking as she ran her hands through his hair and listened to him like he was the most interesting person in the world. It hurt deep inside that those memories were tainted and his anger at Kate only grew.

 

            He shifted to try and find where the scent would lead off, then frozen when something more familiar and equally infuriating mixed in with Kate’s scent.

 

            What the hell was Peter doing here?

 

            He was so caught up in his nose that he didn’t hear the soft padding of fox feet until Kira leapt nimbly over the rocks. He managed to keep himself from jumping but it was a close call. She was carrying the leather pouch in her mouth and spat it out with a grunt. He realised with a start that she didn’t smell like a fox. She didn’t smell like anything but many stone and he realised that probably had something to do with the blade she had used to transform. Confidently she trotted over to him as if they were old friends. Derek shifted back.

 

            “Are you following me?”

 

            Kira huffed and went back to her back, reaching a paw until she could straighten up on two legs. “No. We’re following the same scent, I think.”

 

            Derek’s nose was duller in human form but he had picked out the stench of Professor Tate’s blood easily. There was no body, at least none that Derek could smell, but there was definitely enough that she hadn’t made it out of this clearing alive. He raised an eyebrow at Kira who was frowning and squinting into the bushes like they were hiding something.

 

            There was no tactful way to say this. “I think yours ends here.”

 

            Kira turned to look at him, eyes narrowed. “You haven’t been an Animagus very long, have you?” Derek bristled at the insult but she continued, knowledge apparently making her brave. “This bush here,” she pointed to the short, wild looking plant that spanned between the trees. “It’s got medical healing properties. Anyone worth their nose can scent it out, even if they’re half delirious like Malia probably was. It works better dried but with enough will to live,” she trailed off thinking hard. “She’s not here though.”

 

            Derek kept himself from pointing out the obvious, that someone had taken Malia’s body to hide the evidence but she looked determined. “You’re hunting the killers, right? I’ll follow you and see. Maybe she got carried away.”

 

            “I’m not going to slow down for you,” he warned, not liking this idea at all but not wanting to waste time arguing.

 

            “You won’t have to,” she said quickly. “I can move just as fast as any wolf.”

 

            He pointed to the leather bag still sitting off on the side. “Not with that in your mouth.”

 

            She turned hopeful eyes on him and that’s how he ended up with a leather satchel looped around his neck as Kira sprinted next to him in the woods. He barely felt the weight and, besides, he tried to reason with himself. Kira might keep him from killing Kate when he saw her.

 

            They ran for a long time. The sun was sinking in the sky and even though it was a time of year that got dark early Derek couldn’t help but worry. He didn’t know when the Aurors were planning on transferring Stiles but it wouldn’t be more than a day or two. Once the other wizard was in Azkaban getting him back would be a trial. Though the wolf had endurance enough on the full moon he could feel his energy start to flag. He was almost grateful when he finally started to hear voices in the distance.

 

            Kira slowed with him, panting and trembling but just as alert as he was. They were far enough that even his ears could only make out sounds not voices. It was hard to imagine it being anyone else though. They were so far from anywhere, so deep into the Forest, that no human or wizard would come here until they were desperate.

 

            He couldn’t speak to Kira but she seemed to be able to understand him anyway. The two pushed forward, slow and steady. The scent grew stronger. Latrines, Derek was surprised because the smell was too strong. They hadn’t used Sanitation spells at all. Kate was here, his hackles rose with a wave of anger, but there were others. Derek’s steady pace faltered when he got two more scents.

 

            Kira paused and looked at him quizzically when he fell behind half a pace. He ignored her and kept going, confusion diluting the anger.

 

            The smell of food cooking wafted over them, barely, soup, stewed meats and vegetables making his mouth water when he realised he hadn’t eaten since breakfast that morning. Boyd was a good cook, he remembered, and Peter was passable when he wanted to be. There was a fourth person with them, a man in his early twenties but Derek had no idea who it was. They were camped on high ground so he and Kira creapt through the trees. Suddenly, there was a crackling sound in the air and pain raced from his nose.

 

            He leapt back, pawing ridiculously with human hands as the sting faded. His eyes were watered but he heard the same yelp of surprise and pain to his left as Kira ran into whatever barrier he had.

 

            The voices faltered for a moment before there was a laugh and they settled. Derek had slid down the hill a little but the woods were too dense for him to fall much. Kira had tumbled into his side in a heap and they both quickly shook out numbed limbs as they got their bearings.

 

            “What was that?” Kira’s voice was barely a whisper. It was dark enough he could barely make out the movement of her lips.

 

            Derek sniffed as best he could but his face still felt like someone had hit him with a Stinging curse. Silently, he moved back up the hill and stretched out his hand. He jerked it back when he felt a thin wire. Something hot and white ran up his arm and if he hadn’t known better he would have thought he had been struck by a small bolt of lightning.

 

             Kira had followed him and gasped. “Don’t touch that!”

 

            “Thanks,” he sneered back, quiet but sarcastic. “I could never have figured that out on my own.”

 

            “It’s electric,” she said, her voice almost awed and she said the Muggle word without hesitation. She reached out too but didn’t touch the wire. “How did they get electricity to work out there? The Forest is much too magical for it.”

 

            Derek had to keep his mouth from curling up in a mock snarl when he finally saw the tree it was wrapped around. “Mountain ash,” he scraped the bark with his nail. It refused to shift into a claw. “They must have every anti-magic charm worked into it. If they made a circle then I bet no one can use magic inside.”

 

            Kira pulled out her wand from the hilt of her sword and waved it at a leaf in a quick levitation flick. Nothing happened. Shakily, she put it away and took a few steps back.

 

            “That’s why we shifted back,” Derek said. He pulled the satchel still dangling around his neck off and thrust it at her. “If they’re kidnapping werewolves it makes sense,” he wished Deaton’s wardrobe had given him an axe so he could cut down every cursed tree on the hill. “Anything magical wouldn’t hold them for long and they must be using some kind of Muggle electricity contraption to keep them,” unlike Kira he tripped over the word.

 

            “How do you know they’re kidnapping werewolves?” Kira asked surprised.

 

            “What part of Deaton sent me on a mission don’t you understand?” he snapped quietly, still hyper aware that Kate and her party were nearly within earshot. “How do _you_ know they’re kidnapping werewolves?”

 

            She tapped her ears guiltily. “The Aurors need to talk about their open cases with rooms that have much better Silencing Charms,” she said. “What should we do now? Go back? We can’t do anything without magic and we can’t sneak into their camp to look for Malia without changing.”

 

            She was right, Derek hated that, so he turned away from the hill and the stinging wire surrounding it with reluctance. “At least we know where they are,” Kira said but it wasn’t very comforting.

 

            Kidnapping werewolves—was that what they were doing? Derek mulled it over in his mind. They had certainly tried to kidnap Brett or else they should have just killed him outright in the hallway at Hogwarts. A knife to the heart on an untransformed werewolf, even one taking Wolfsbane regularly, would be fatal enough. Unless they had been planning on ransoming Brett back to his Alpha than there was no reason for all the fuss. But maybe that was what Kate’s plan had been. Surely a decent Alpha would trade a Bite for a child regardless of the consequences.

 

            But if they were looking to ransom a Beta back to its Alpha then why the hell was Peter up there?

 

            Kira was reaching into her pack distracted but Derek yanked her close when he heard the sound of something shuffling in the bush. She froze, her hand half way to her blade but Derek could already feel thick hair densing on his arms as whatever it was moved closer. He didn’t leap at it the second it emerged and was grateful for his restraint.

 

            “Malia!” Kira shoved his arm aside and dropped to her knees as the coyote limped out from under the bush. Its ears perked and Derek heard relief in its whine as Kira ran careful fingers over its sides and head. “Oh, thank _Merlin_ you’re alive!”

 

            Derek could smell the hurt on her and it only grew as Tate started to shift back. Kira kept her from crumpling to the ground as the pain seemed to almost double as her mass did.

 

            “Good job at finding the bad guys,” Tate was gritting her teeth but beyond that she didn’t flinch at Kira’s grip. “But you guys can’t leave now.”

 

           


	14. Get in, loser

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long delay! Between getting back to Japan after holidays, getting really sick, and then deciding and implementing a plan to move house, I got a little distracted. Here's a Valentine's Day present??

            Malia was giving off a sickly smell. When Derek and Kira looked closer he realised she was even worse off than it seemed. Her face was covered in bruises and one eye was nearly swollen shut. She held her left arm to her chest carefully and Derek could smell a fresh stab of pain every time she breathed. Kira pressed dried herbs into the skin that showed through her torn clothes. Despite the gruesome nature of it all, Derek rolled his eyes when he realised both of them were avoiding the other’s gaze and their hearts were beating fast in tandem. He worked around seventeen year olds all day so this was hardly enough to make him flinch but it was a little annoying.

 

            “They’ve got weapons, guns,” Malia said. The hurt was lessening as Kira worked but dried herbs weren’t a miracle cure on their own. She needed a real Med-Wizard, or at least a proper Status spell but neither Derek nor Kira had the magical medical knowledge to preform one. Malia glanced at Derek with narrowed eyes as if she was sizing him up. “They’re like Muggle machines that shoot metal balls—“

 

            “I know what a gun is,” Derek said shortly.

 

            “Good,” Malia didn’t seem to take any insult from his tone. “Then you know they’re dangerous without any kind of magical protection.” Wincing, she pulled at a gap in her left sleeve that was dark and stiff with blood. Derek had never seen a bullet wound up close and he realised that was the rancid smell. Kira paled and gently reached for a fresh compress of herbs to press it.

 

“They are more on the way. They’ll be here by morning. You have to go warn the headmaster.”

 

            “But why are they coming?” Kira asked. “What do they want?”

 

            “They know there’s a werewolf in Hogwarts.” Derek froze at the words but she didn’t even glance at him. “It’s a group called the, the Orphans,” she was panting a little. While she had seemed to be holding herself together as a coyote she was clearly struggling as a human. “I’ve been listening from around here. They don’t believe that wizards have any more right to magic than Muggles and, and they think that—“ she stiffened as Kira accidently put pressure on her arm. The blushes were gone now and Derek saw Kira’s hand trembling. Malia grunted and carried through. “They think werewolves are _really_ unfair.”

 

            “So they’re going to kill that poor kid,” Kira said and Derek felt a sense of relief hit him. They were talking about Brett not him. The relief was quickly chased out by a heavy sense of guilt.

 

“We won’t let them,” Derek curled his fingers into fists to hide the claws that were poking out. It wasn’t quite dark yet but he could feel the moon pulling at him. He hoped Lydia’s pills held.

 

            “There’s a woman,” Malia said. “She’s trying to bargain with them. But—but she’s the worst of them all,” the last word ended in a gasp of pain and she seemed to curl into herself as she struggled to get her breath back.

 

            “What’s her name?” Derek said but at the same Kira asked, “How did you get hurt?”

 

            Malia shifted her good eye to Kira. “They- they had the kid so I was fighting with them. He got away but they got me with a rifle,” she gestured to her arm. “I thought it was a sword or knife or something. Must—must have had some kind of Silencing Charm on it because I didn’t even hear it.”

 

“Your trail went cold from the bushes,” Kira said as she tried to gently pack the wound without moving her hand. “I couldn’t follow you.”

 

“Hid my scent,” Malia said, this time her contemplating gaze on Kira. She looked surprised but smiled for the first time and Kira flushed. “When the bleeding stopped I used the river for a bit. Tried to go back to the castle.” Her expression darkened. “Then some asshole must’ve circled back and got me. I’m going to kill him if he tries it again.”

 

Derek was still adjusting to his new senses but from the way her heart steadily pounded on she didn’t seem to be joking. “He tried to carry me into the camp but I got free. Think he thinks I’m dead out here. He was—was going to use me like a bargaining chip or something,” she spat and for a moment Derek thought it was in disgust before he realised it was mostly blood. He glanced at Kira but she had her mouth set in a firm line.

 

            “Now we really have to tell the Aurors,” Kira said.  “They can stop them.”

 

“Not- not with those wards,” Malia’s voice was hoarse now. “They’re ready for a magical attack. Spells won’t m-make it into that place.”

 

            Derek had to stop himself from getting to his feet and pacing off the nervous energy. She was right, what could the Aurors do? Mountain ash was the perfect material to hold and amplify anti-magic spells. The only way to take them out would be by physical force and with that Muggle electrical barrier blocking them that would prove impossible. They needed someone who could dismantle whatever that stupid thing was and the only one who could do something like that was—

 

            “Stiles,” Malia managed to say. Her eyes were starting to glaze over a little but she looked directly at Derek. “Go get him first.”

 

            “But he’s—“

 

            “Yeah,” Kira said and brushed Malia’s sweaty hair off her face. “Go get him and tell the Aurors to come after. If there’s anyone who can figure out how to get past the anti-magic wards it’s him.”

 

            Malia started to shift, shrinking back into her coyote form, and curled up on Kira’s lap already sinking into unconsciousness.

 

            “We can’t leave her here alone and I don’t think we can move her back without hurting her more,” Kira said before Derek could even suggest it. “I’ll stay, you go.”

 

            “But—“

 

            “If you’re worried about him being angry over your—your _misunderstanding_ ,” she said. “Then you’d be wrong. He’ll help.”

 

            “I’m more worried about the Aurors that are holding the key to his cell,” Derek couldn’t stop the embarrassed flush from his face. He had been curious as to how she had managed to sneak close enough to the Aurors to listen in on their conversations but he hadn’t realised her spying had extended as far as private rooms. If Stiles’s imprisonment surprised her she didn’t show it.  

 

             “Trust me, Aurors are too arrogant for their own good. Why do you think half of them were in my House?” she sighed bitterly. “I bet they’ve left some loopholes without realising.”

 

            “But how am I supposed to find those?”

 

            “Well, first you’ve got to figure out where they’re holding them. Then you’ve got to get the keys. Then you’ve got to get past the spells,” she scrutinized him for a moment and sighed. “You’ve got to trick them.”

 

            Derek arched an eyebrow. Subterfuge and subtlety weren’t traits he had possessed. The Sorting Hat had barely touched his head before shouting Hufflepuff, a better choice than Slytherin in the eyes of his family but something that Peter never stopped smirking about.  The only manipulative tool he had was keeping silent and glaring, then hoping whoever was talking to him would lose interest. It was how he was snuck around with Kate and it was how he had dealt with hiding being a werewolf. He was pretty sure he couldn’t _stare_ keys off of an Auror.  

 

            Kira seemed to be able to guess his doubts from the expression on his face because she sighed again. “Okay, don’t tell them I sent you but there is someone who can help. Go to the kitchens. Ask for Miss Fluffypotts.”

 

            “A House Elf isn’t going to go against the Aurors.”

 

            “No, but the castle cats will, if you offer them the right bribe.”

 

            Cats, he groaned inward as he shifted to all fours. Of course it had to be cats.

 

***

 

            Boredom had come and gone. Stiles had counted every uneven brick and stone sunken bar. He had tried lying down a dozen different ways on the pallet but they all seemed to make his spine bend in ways only a jellyfish or a slug could. That was a feat Stiles had never expected. Stiles was the kind of person that could fall asleep wedged nearly anywhere (and had, at the end of seventh year when he had stood guard for Scott and Allison’s after curfew dates on the Quidditch field. He had never known granite rock and Quaffles could make such an inviting bed).

 

            He sat on the floor, picking at the seams of his pants for the last hour until it felt like his fingernails were going to bleed.

 

            The Auror who had been guarding him had left for dinner. She had said she would bring him back something but, by the toothy smirk she gave him as she left, Stiles knew she meant after her own meal. His stomach rumbled when he thought about the fact it was stew tonight and how wonderful that was hot. He was definitely not getting it hot. He was jolted out of his thoughts as a jingling sound like a bell rang down the steps and he heard the door close. Quickly, he scrambled to his feet wondering if he had misread the smirk.

 

            It wasn’t an Auror though. A dusty grey long-haired cat paused, its foot hovering above the last step as it took in his disheveled appearance. He scowled; it had been a bad enough day, he didn’t need judgement from something that looked like the wrong end of a mop. It took the last step and trotted to the bars like it was on a mission. Before Stiles could say anything, it slipped between the bars without setting off so much as a flicker of the containment magic. He knelt as the cat came to his shin and let out a demanding meow.

 

            “Hey, kitty,” Stiles patted its head gingerly. “You’re very, very lost, you know. This isn’t exactly the Common Rooms.”

 

            The cat rumbled in what might be a purr or what might be the sound cats make before they sink teeth into human flesh so Stiles jerked his hand back. The cat meowed again like an exasperated apology and rubbed its face on Stiles’s knee. Stiles cautiously resumed his patting. He realised with each pat there was that bell sound again when he looked he saw the cat actually had a collar.

 

            “Respectable owners, huh?” he ran his hands over the leather strap while the cat waiting uncharacteristically patient. “You must belong to a Ravenclaw if they bothered to give you tags.”

 

            He twisted the leather but when he looked a key danged where a metal tag should be. Carefully he untied the strap and the cat darted back through the bars. It was gone before he could call it back and he stared at the key in his hands with unease. It certainly didn’t look like trunk keys or the keys to something a student might have. It was big, heavy and definitely iron. Familiar looking iron. His eyes drift to the aged bars of the cell.

 

            Cautiously, as to not touch the bars and set off the painful stinging spell, he slipped his wrists through the narrow spaces. His hands weren’t exactly small but they were lean. He twirled the key in his fingertips slowly so he wouldn’t drop it and carefully slipped it into the heavy iron lock. Sweat prickling on his forehead as he tried to turn the key while keeping his forearms steady. Finally, he heard a small click. The magical hum that he felt coming off the bars faded. Carefully, he touched the metal. Nothing.

 

            It seemed to be too good to be true.

 

            For a moment he felt elation and went to open the door. Then, just as his foot was about to cross the line, he hesitated. Was this a test? Would secondary alarms go off if he left?

 

            Carefully he placed one sneakered foot on the floor outside of the cell. Nothing happened. Even more carefully he eased the rest of himself out. Still silence. As if moving on pressurized tiles, Stiles moved towards and up the stairs, certain that at any moment Jackson was going to leap out from under an invisibility cloak and cackle gleefully as he slapped cuffs on him. But the room was still and Stiles couldn’t hear anything but his own heartbeat.

 

            He should at least tell the Aurors about the faulty door, he relaxed as he reached the top step. It looked bad, he knew, escaping like this but surely an innocent man wouldn’t turn himself in. Now, if that same innocent man happened to stop by the kitchens first for a hot meal surely it would only teach them to draft new prisoner rights.

 

            Hands grabbed him as he pushed the door at the top of the steps open. They yanked him behind a tapestry on the wall. It was a small alcove, dusty and clearly forgotten by every house elf and it was all Stiles could do to stop himself from sneezing as his feet kicked up dust in a wild panic.

 

            “Don’t move,” it wasn’t Jackson but Derek holding a big hand firmly over his mouth. For a second Stiles appreciated the way the man was holding him against the wall. Derek’s robes were gone and metal clasps from a very fetching leather jacket dug into his forearms. “There’s someone around the corner.”

 

            Stiles decided to play along and let himself relax until Derek released his hold. The other man wasn’t looking at him and it gave Stiles a chance to compose himself. Besides the jacket, Derek was wearing jeans, _nice_ jeans, Stiles noticed, a soft looking shirt and boots. It was nothing like Stiles had ever seen him wear. He was also tense, his body a line of focused anticipation against Stiles and the younger man quickly decided it would be better to wait to see what was going on before trying anything. Full moon was coming soon, his brain supplied unhelpfully, and he help himself even stiller. After a few seconds, Derek seemed to relax.

 

            “They’re gone,” was the only explanation Stiles got. “Let’s go.”

 

            “Okay—wait a sec,” Stiles held up his hands as peacefully as he could and the contrast between Derek’s roughness made the other man pause. “I’m grateful for the whole breaking me out thing because—that was you, right?” Derek nodded harshly but didn’t meet his eye. “But I wasn’t exactly in danger or anything.” Derek seemed to bite back a reply and Stiles rolled his eyes. “Are you that worried your alibi is going to get you found out? Because I’m not going to go to Azkaban just so you don’t have to confess a little almost hanky-panky to Braedon.”

 

            “Braedon?” Derek raised an eyebrow. “What are you talking about?”

 

            Stiles felt a prickle of impatience. “You know, the whole you, me, a couple of beers, a whole lot of infidelity,” he wiggled his eyebrows suggestively. “We barely made it to third base. It’s hardly cheating if no one saw any penis.”

 

            Derek seemed to stiffen in embarrassment and Stiles was almost delighted to see the tips of his ears go red. “You think—With _Braedon_?”

 

            “Hey, it’s not like there aren’t a million rumours about you two,” Stiles frowned.

 

            “Well, I’m not,” Derek said firmly which left Stiles sure in his second explanation.

 

            “So she’s your Werewolf Watcher then,” he nodded, using the term for the job he knew to be polite, and Derek’s claws lengthened enough to cut through Stiles’s tee shirt. He clearly hadn’t meant to do it if the look on his face was anything to go by but Stiles was more interested  in how quickly he managed to retract them and let Stiles go. “Oh my God, you can control the shift?” Stiles grabbed his now human hand and ran his fingers over it eagerly. Derek stilled but let Stiles finished his inspection. “Has Lydia gotten that far with her new potion? Can you—Wait, you can do a full shift can’t you? That night in the Dark Arts room, it wasn’t a dog, it was _you!_ ”

 

            Derek finally snatched his hand back. Stiles noticed he was still a bit red which only made him want to know more. “What? Do you really think I couldn’t figure it out?”

 

            “Jackson told you.” Derek said, his eyes flashing with anger.

 

            “Thanks, but I’ve watched enough Veronica Mars to be able to figure that kind of thing out,” Stiles lied as smoothly as he ever had. Derek narrowed his eyes and Stiles added, “She’s a Muggle detective, from Neptune. Catches bad Pirates, cheating husbands all while finding love.”

 

            Derek snorted. “Muggles haven’t made it to Neptune. I know that much. And you’re lying. I know Jackson told you.”

 

            “What? No!” Stiles found himself sputtering, caught off guard for the first time in a long time.

 

            Derek gave him an unimpressed look. “You can lie with your face but you can’t lie here,” Derek reached out with his hand and Stiles jumped back, banging into the wall. But instead of violence, Derek just tapped him on the chest right over his heart. It was beating wildly and Stiles looked up, meeting Derek’s eyes. They both froze and something very unsettling flipped over in his stomach. Derek snatched his hand back. “Come on. We don’t have a lot of time.”

 

            Stiles steadied his stance a little trying to ignore the way his own face felt too hot. “Thanks, but I’ll stay here. Guilty men run and I don’t want to give them more fuel for that fire Jackson is cooking up for me.”

 

            “I know you’re not guilty,” Derek leaned in close and Stiles had to force back a shiver as the smell of forest, leather and something indescribable reached his nose.

 

            “And how do you know that?” Stiles demanded without thinking, a sudden burst of confusing anger welling up. “I could be a stone cold killer! The next Dark Lord right here.”

 

            Derek rolled his eyes. “Then it’s a really great cover you’ve been building,” Derek’s voice was sarcastic and Stiles found that ebbed away his anger more than anything. “Emulating You-Know-Who by being Hogwart’s most eccentric Muggle-loving professor. Regular fork-headed snake, you two are.”

 

            “It’s—a long term plan,” Stiles said but even to his own ears the argument waned. “Like… a sleeper cell.” He didn’t know why he was pushing this but he hid a shiver when he realised he liked the way Derek leaned in again.

 

“We found that professor, alive. Now, if you want to keep wasting time arguing with me that’s fine. But the longer you wait the more chance that you _will_ be responsible for her bleeding out.”

 

            Stiles’s knees felt weak and he grabbed Derek’s elbow. “She’s alive?”

 

            “For now,” Derek said impatiently and used Stiles’s hold to pull him away from the wall and out from behind the tapestry. “But we need you to take out the Muggle defensives and we need you to do it now. If we wait for that Auror to let you go then it’s going to be too late. Now—are you coming?” Derek snapped at Stiles for the last question, shaking his arm a little which helped Stiles pull himself together.

 

            “Of course I’m coming,” he pulled from Derek’s hands again and moved down the corridor impatiently. He glanced over his shoulder. “Are you going to fill me in on the rest or do I have to coax it out of you with a meal bone?”

 

            Things didn’t completely make sense to Stiles as Derek haltingly told him about the killers, the Orphans like Jackson had said, and he had more questions about what the hell a kitsune was and—oh God, that fox has been _Kira_ , hadn’t it?   He had poured his heart out to that stupid thing. Still, it was clear that Derek was hiding something and Stiles hated it when people did that, hypocritical as it was. He changed directions abruptly and started to head to the dungeons.

 

            “The Forest is that way,” Derek protested as he followed Stiles at a light jog. “Weren’t you listening? We have to hurry.”

 

            “I get that,” Stiles said as they approached his rooms. Roscoe beeped a welcome and Stiles muttered the new password (“orange is the new black,” something safe this time, though Lydia had rolled her eyes and criticized his fashion sense before he could explain it) quickly.  “If they’re as far as you say I’m not going to be able to make that hike before it gets too dark. And even with your furry ass with me I don’t want to be in there without some kind of protection.”

 

            Derek made a noise of protest but Stiles was already at the gun locker. “Give me your wand,” he held his hand out impatiently and Derek passed it over with a look of trepidation. Stiles quickly said the spells to unlock it and gave it back. The Aurors had taken his wand but he at least still had these things that didn’t need magic to activate them. He checked everything over as he took it out and started to pile the ammo he had been tinkering with into a bag.

 

            “I’m going to leave a note for Jackson,” he said as he scribbled something on a spare piece of parchment. “At least he’ll know I haven’t gone completely AWOL.”

 

            Derek grumbled about another reference he didn’t understand but finally shut up as Stiles signed his name with a flourish and brought the shotgun to rest on his shoulder, hoping it looked as cool as he thought. “My ass isn’t furry,” Derek grumped finally.

 

            Stiles forced all thoughts of Derek’s ass out of his mind as he fumbled with a desk drawer and nearly dropped the key ring. “I’ll give you my opinion on that once I have some firsthand experience,” he said instead and this time it was Derek tripping over a desk leg as they left. Stiles patted Roscoe’s bumper as the portrait swung shut behind them. The car hooked in acknowledgement and shot off down the hall.

 

            “Brooms?” Derek asked as they set off for the outside courtyard again. Stiles shook his head. He wasn’t as skilled with a broom as Derek was and he wasn’t sure he could juggle a gun as well as one of the school’s tricky practice brooms. Besides, he had a better method.

 

            They were moving too quickly for Derek to suggest something else. By the time they reached the outer wall and Stiles turned to estimate the width of the door with his hands, Derek was getting impatient. “So, what then? If you think I’m going to let you piggy back me the whole way there—“

 

            “Dude, no,” Stiles said, tilting his head before finally judging the archway big enough. “I’ll let you know when I want to ride you. What we’re going to do is this.”

 

            He pulled the keys from his pocket and palmed the round plastic disk. He hadn’t used this in a while but the spell was probably still holding strong. He pressed the big red button. For a second nothing happened and he could almost feel Derek shifting his weight from foot to foot angrily next to him. Then, there was an echoing roar of an engine. Somewhere in the palace, Roscoe burst free from the aging parchment on the portraits. Stiles couldn’t help the giant grin on his face as the car barreled through the archway, doors flapping in excitement and nearly clipping the bricks.

 

            “Remember when you made fun of me for bringing a portrait of my car with me?” Stiles ran to meet the blue jeep, running his hands over the flickering headlights as the engine purred. “Well, _tada_!”

 

            “You brought your actual c _ar_?” Derek was staring, his eyes as wide as Scott’s particularly bird-brained owl Lupin, as Stiles caught the still flapping driver’s door and held it steady. He climbed in the seat, the wheel warm in his hands as Roscoe settled. He could almost feel the car surrender control as he slid the key into the ignition. He pressed the gas and the car rolled easily, eager to please as he pulled a sharp turn and stopped alongside Derek. The passenger door jumped open.

 

            “Get in, loser,” Stiles couldn’t keep the giddiness from his voice. “We’re going hunting.”

 

            Roscoe seemed to move through the Forest without mind to the spaces between the trees or the denseness of the underbush. Derek and Stiles could still feel the sharp bumps and curves of the roots and rocks on the Forest floor but it was only enough to be uncomfortable. Derek was certain there were laws against magicking a car like this but Stiles shrugged off his concerns with a few explanations about a research grant and what felt like what-they-don’t-know-can’t-hurt-them rationales. Stiles steered with a confidence that Derek couldn’t help but watch from the corner of his eye. The windows were rolled up and the heat on so Stiles had rolled his sleeves up to just below his elbow. His hands looked large and capable on the steering wheel and Derek had trouble pushing away the memories of what those hands felt like on his body.

 

            “So, what kind of barrier did you say they had up again?” Stiles asked when the silence in the car stretched too long.

 

            “Some kind of wire,” Derek said, grateful for a topic. He focused on keeping an eye out for landmarks as they raced through the trees. “It looked like it was circled around the camp and it feels like getting hit with lightening.” He paused before adding, “It shocked both of us back to our human form too.”

 

            “Sounds like an electric fences but it must be really strong if it took out you, big guy,” Stiles glanced at him. “Look, I’m not some kind of mechanical engineer. I don’t know what you think I can do.”

 

            Derek had to bite back snort, and felt guilty at the ingrained response. He remembered what Mason had said about the differences between technology and other Muggle things, and that Stiles had primarily seemed to deal with the pop culture end of things. He decided, then, that electricity and music must be as similar as a broomstick enchantment and organic object transfiguration. It was a stupid request to ask wizards who specialized in either field to be an expert in the other and not for the first time wondered bitterly just how long he was going to feel ignorant of these things. Still, he glanced at Stiles who was calmly looking back at the branches smacking the front glass, he had confidence in Stiles.

 

            “At least you’ll know more than me,” Derek said. Stiles chuckled then threw Derek a grin.

 

            “Don’t worry, I’m sure you’re good at what you do too.” Stiles cleared his throat and turned back to the front before casually adding, “So exactly how long have you been a werewolf?”

 

            Well, at least he wasn’t the only one making invasive assumptions. He answered, his tone clipped. “I was born one. Most of us are these days.”

 

            Stiles seemed to notice he had struck a nerve. “I didn’t mean anything by it. It’s just that you ran out really quickly the other night. If it wasn’t because of Braedon then I kind of assumed it was because you were losing control.” Derek remained stoic and silent. “Am I wrong? I know newly bitten werewolves have some trouble when they hit the full moon for the first time.”

 

            “It wasn’t the full moon,” Derek said, his irritation ebbing away at the genuine curiosity in Stiles’s voice. “You know about Martin and her experiments, don’t you?”

 

            “She may have let it slip. But I had no idea you were involved with all that,” he added hastily.

 

            “There have been some…” Derek searched for the words before settling on, “trials and errors.”

 

            “And that was an error.”

 

            “Yes.”

 

            Stiles was quiet for a moment as he thought it over. “So, was the whole thing that night an error?”

 

            Derek felt the back of his neck heat up and he could feel Stiles’s eyes flickering to look at him. “We think it’s my emotions that are triggering the, uh, errors,” Derek felt like there was something blocking his throat so he coughed to clear it. “But, my, uh, feelings weren’t affected by the… the trial. Or error.”

 

            “Oh,” Stiles seemed taken back. Then, quietly, he said, “Feelings? Like, plural?”

 

            Derek nodded, grunting an acknowledgement because he wasn’t sure if Stiles was still looking. Though the other man’s face looked still and calm Derek could hear everything happening under the façade. Stiles’s heart was racing, thumping loud enough it was drowning out the sound of his own, and he smelled like arousal, excitement and… fear. He dug his claws into his thigh before he realised what he had done and pulled them out with a wince. The wounds closed sluggishly as he tried to quietly accept it.

 

            Stiles’s mind was in overdrive. Feelings, plural. That was unexpected. He was used to one feeling, singular, and it usually a short lived one. Roscoe rumbled comfortingly as it bumped and rattled over the ground. He glanced at Derek, trusting the car to keep out of the way of anything big. He had his face turned away, his profile lit up by the back beam of the head lights. His expression was blank but there was a worry crease above his forehead. Stiles wondered if werewolves got wrinkles, then scoffed because he had seen enough pictures of old, worn and tired looking men and woman in textbooks. Of course they did, though he wasn’t sure what to expect now that Lydia had created some kind of Captain American-like super serum for them. He tried to imagine Derek with wrinkles anyway and with a panicked jolt he realised he wasn’t picturing Derek growing old alone.

 

            Feeling, plural. He swallowed hard.

 

            The ground had been moving upward and fortunately Derek broke the awkward atmosphere in the car first. “We’re getting close. We should stop here and walk or they’ll hear the car.”

 

            Stiles took the keys. It would be easier to call Roscoe if he had them, especially since he still didn’t have a wand. Stiles stuck close to Derek, trying to ignore the way he seemed to be hyperaware of the distance between their bodies. Derek, for his part, didn’t seem to want to acknowledge the sudden discomfort. Stiles forced himself to think about why they were here, that Malia was alive, and it was enough to turn his focus.

 

            They didn’t have to go far before Derek was pulling him towards a clump of fallen, mossy trees. The Forest had gotten dark enough that he couldn’t see much and he shivered in the camp air. Without saying a word, Derek waved his wand and a warm blanket of air settled on his shoulders.

 

            “Derek!” Stiles noticed Kira only when she moved. She had camouflaged herself into the moss well. She knelt, something cradled in her lap and Stiles rushed forward, careless of the roots when he saw Malia shivering, her hind legs hunched underneath her body.

 

            “Is she okay?” he reached for her and Kira gently untucked Malia’s muzzle from where she had it tucked between Kira’s arm and ribs. Malia’s eyes were tacky and glossed over in pain but she nuzzled him in recognition. The sour smell of pain made his palms itch. Not for the first time he was grateful that Wolfsbane potions, designed to help ease the traumas of transformations, had lingering affects so he had always been a quick healer. He just wished he didn’t have to see others suffer.

 

            “She’s getting worse fast,” Kira’s voice was calm but her heart was pounding fast. “We need to get her to Hogwarts.

 

            “You can take Roscoe,” Stiles fished his keys out and handed them over. Kira looked at them confused for a moment. “You can drive right?”

 

            Kira nodded, realisation dawning on her. “I learned when I was studying in Japan. There are too many people to risk Portkeys and brooms. You have a car? At the school?”

 

            “Well, it’s in the Forest now,” he said and reached to press the red button again. Derek strained his ears, listening for any sign that the people muttering in the camp beyond the barrier could hear the engine, but Roscoe seemed to know the need for stealth. It rolled gently over the moss until it was as close to the fallen trees as it could get. Stiles and Kira put Malia on an old blanket in the back seat and then Kira climbed in the driver’s side.

 

            “Roscoe can deal with most of the stuff, just keep an eye on the compass to make sure you’re going the right way,” Stiles pointed to a metal circular object clipped to the sunvisor.

 

            “Compasses don’t work around the castle,” Kira protested.

 

            “They do if the only thing they can read is Hogwarts,” Stiles tapped on the glass and Derek realised there was only one letter, a large H where N should have been. The jeep backed away silently, moving so slowly that the engine didn’t even turn over. Derek and Stiles waited a few minutes until it got far enough away that Derek could finally hear the ignition start and it moved off at a fast clip.

 

            “Okay,” Stiles stretched. It looked like something heavy had lifted from his shoulders and he shook his arms out. “Let’s crack this.”

 

 

 


	15. Long shot

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1) I know diddly about electronics so let's just pretend all the engineering is correct. I'm terrible at being a Muggle, clearly Hogwarts forgot to give me my letter. 
> 
> 2) I'm not a teenager. I attempted teenager vernacular. I'm sorry. 
> 
> 3) This is short (and still no porn) but Derek does grope Stiles quite a bit, though it's not very sexy. I'm sorry! This is wrapping up though.

Stiles puttered around the wire for a minute, not touching the wire though his fingers twitched like he wanted to. He explained the basic mechanics of the fence quickly but Derek understood without much problem. A lot of Defensive magic relied on circles and even most of the wand work dealt with spirals, closed shapes, and creating walls. Forcefully breaking those circles was Dark Magic but Stiles seemed very clinical when he explained they needed to cut the electrical circuits.

 

The wind shifted as they moved and each drift brought disturbing and distracting news. He could smell Peter and Boyd without any trouble. Were they captured? Derek still getting used to the enhanced senses but he knew somehow that the scents were of people who were alive. Kate’s smell was stirring the wolf in him so much so his stomach felt like it was being kneaded into knots. Each breeze felt like a gouge as he remembered the horror of learning about Laura, his family, and the fresh knowledge of who had caused their deaths. Stiles’s voice kept him grounded and his mind and body mostly human.

 

They followed the wire as best they could while looking for something Stiles called a 'circuit box'. The Forest was dark and they found Derek’s warming and light spells didn’t work while they were close to the fence. He shifted his eyes with some strain so he could still see clearly but Stiles shivered next to him. He had to fight the urge to reach out and touch Stiles to check the temperature of his pebbled skin. To distract himself, he listened to Stiles’s rapidly complicated explanation of Muggle electricity until he saw something that looked out of place among the overgrown trees, bushes and flowers.

 

“I think I see it,” he said, interrupting Stiles who was describing electric Christmas lights.  Derek was startled to realised his voice was rough. He realised he hadn’t said anything during their trek, too focused on suppressing the building anger inside of him.

 

“Thank the Lord,” Stiles muttered under his breath.

 

Derek pointed a finger at a small, metal body half hidden behind a rock. It was inside the fence but Derek could see coiled wires running from the top of it and the hum of the fence was much stronger here.

 

“Brilliant,” Stiles muttered again. He had shoved his hands under his armpits to keep his fingers warm. Derek wondered if he should offer Stiles his jacket, the cold seemed to barely affect himself, but Stiles was off and moving before he could do anything. “We’ve got to get around this fence.”

 

“Don’t touch it!” Derek said reflexively. Stiles shot him an exasperated look.

 

“I’m not going to _touch_ it,” he leaned close enough to make Derek nervous. “I have no idea what the voltage is and I don’t have an alternate magical form living in him to take the brunt of it.” He took a few exaggerated steps back to Derek’s relief. “We’ve got to get over it somehow though.”

 

The fence wasn’t too tall but it was just far enough off the ground that neither of them could climb over it without risking some very important body parts. Stiles studied it for a moment, cupping his hands in front of his face to blow on them. Suddenly, he dropped to his knees. Derek realised what he wanted to do and grabbed the other man’s waist before he could try to crawl under.

 

“Whoa, now!” Stiles yelped and twisted. Derek refused to release his grip and they went tumbling onto the mossy ground in a heap. Rolling, Stiles spit out a leaf. “Dude, what the hell?”

 

Derek’s heart didn’t calm down until he had a firm grip on the back of Stiles’s shirt, ensuring the other man couldn’t get any close to the buzzing wire. “You weren’t going to fit,” Derek said through gritted teeth. He wasn’t exactly on top of Stiles but he had a leg pinning down the other man’s knee and Stiles had twisted in his hold so that he could give Derek an angry look. The material of his shirt pulled it tight over his shoulders and Derek found himself subconsciously glancing at Stiles’s mouth as the man sputtered and wiped away a few more stray leaves and dirt from his face.

 

“It’s not that low,” Stiles glared. “I was going to belly crawl, not limbo.”

 

“No.”

 

“No?” Stiles arched an eyebrow.

 

“It’s dangerous,” Derek leaned back, the smell and thump of Stiles’s heart suddenly too distracting. He let go of Stiles’s shirt too but kept his hands free in case Stiles tried to rush at the fence again. “I’ll do it.”

 

Stiles glanced quickly over Derek’s broad shoulders. “Right. You’re worried about my lanky ass shimming through a three foot gap but those shoulders are too swole to fit through most doorways.”

 

Derek wondered if swole was another one of the incomprehensible Muggle terms Stiles seemed to have in endless supply. “You said it yourself. If I touch the wire then I’ll heal. You won’t.”

 

“I’m touched at your concern, really,” Stiles rolled his eyes. “But wasn’t the point of breaking me out of jail that you don’t understand how Muggle things work? I’ve got the best shot of understanding what’s in that circuit box. And if you think touching the wire hurt I’m pretty sure if you screw up the power source it’s going to do more then give you a little shock.”

 

Derek hadn’t thought about that. Suddenly he really didn’t want Stiles going near that box but the other man was pushing him all the way off and climbing back to his feet. Derek let him though he found himself placing his own body between Stiles and the fence. Stiles rolled his eyes again.

 

“Jesus Christ,” he grumbled. “What the hell has gotten into you? Do I have damsel in distress tattooed on my forehead?”

 

Derek couldn’t bring himself to apologise. “You don’t even have a wand right now,” he said as he reluctantly moved.

 

“Now, was that so hard?” Stiles tried to brush off the last bit of moss and mud clinging to him but all he ended up doing was rubbing it in more. He sighed irritated. “Now come on. If we can’t go over it and we can’t go under it, and we definitely can’t go around it because, let’s face it, it’s a circle, then we have to get creative. How good are your Transfigurations?” Derek glared before Stiles realised what he had said and flushed. “I mean your _other_ Transfigurations! You got a NEWT, right?” There was a chilly silence and Derek couldn’t meet his eyes. Stiles’s eyebrows shot up. “You didn’t take the NEWT?”

 

“It took me two tries to pass the OWLs,” he muttered and jumped when Stiles let out a sudden laugh before he managed to stifle it.

 

“Are you serious?” there was a grin on Stiles’s face that made Derek scowl harder.

 

“It feels—“ Derek’s voice as halting as he tried to defend himself. Stiles fell silent to let him continue but he didn’t stop grinning. “You have to Transfigure mice for the OWL. I just didn’t like forcing other living things to change shapes, okay? I got enough of that myself.”

 

The sobered Stiles and the smirk quickly fell. He rubbed the back of his head uncomfortably for a moment before meeting Derek’s eyes squarely. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to laugh.” Derek shrugged but Stiles seemed to understand he was forgiven.  He sighed again, his eyebrows scrunching together as he thought. “Look, the only other way I can think to get over the fence is to find something to put over it, something non-conductive, like rubber. It’ll act like a kind of protective bridge. We can climb over it without touching the wire.”

 

It definitely sounded safer then attempting to wiggle under the fence. “Where are we going to find a piece of rubber that big?”

 

“Give me your wand,” Stiles held out his hand. It wasn’t a small thing to pass over one’s wand and Derek found himself especially reluctantly to part with his. The core was made from his mother’s fur when she had been the Alpha, a tradition passed down through the family though Derek usually lied and said it was from a particularly ornery black unicorn. Still, he trusted Stiles and he had lent the man his wand before to unlock the gun locker. 

 

Reluctantly, he placed his wand oak handle first in Stiles’s open palm. Unlike last time, his hands touched Stiles’s icy ones and a jolt of something shot through him. He snatched his hand back as Stiles did the same and the wand dropped to the Forest floor. When he glanced up, Stiles’s eyes were wide and he was rubbing his palm on his pants. “Sorry,” he said and crouched to retrieve the wand. “There must be some static around here from the electricity.”

 

Something skipped in Stiles’s pounding heartbeat. Derek struggled to breathe as the heart-achingly familiar magic tingled up his arm. Stiles started off towards into the Forest and Derek forced himself to follow, clenching his fist as if it would keep the fading tendrils of his mother’s magic in.

 

***

 

Stiles tried to shake off the warmth that was spreading from the wand. He had used this wand before and it hadn’t felt like this. Sure, it had felt nice in when he had used it briefly in his room and the spells had worked more smoothly than any other time he had just used a wand that was close at hand. Maybe it was because he hadn’t realized how cold his hands were until he had touched Derek. It must be backfiring some subconscious Warming Charm. He ignored the voice that kept insisted it was the same kind of feeling he had had years ago in Ollivander’s when he had felt out of place in this new Wizarding world until he had closed his hand around his wand for the first time.

 

He pushed aside a low hanging branch and got a face full of spider web. He leapt back, praying that whatever spider could survive in a place like the Forbidden Forest wasn’t home, and smacked into Derek’s chest. The other man caught him and held him up as Stiles sputtered and scrubbed his face with his sleeve until he was sure all of the web was gone. The warmth radiating from the wand spread until it felt someone was pressing a warm compress on every spot Derek touched. He moved away quickly and doubled his pace.

 

If Derek noticed the heat he didn’t say anything about it. Instead, he just jogged until he was back on Stiles’s heels again. “What are you looking for?”

 

“Something that will hold the Transfiguration better than some leaves,” Stiles said. “The more closely related the objects are the less likely they are just going to fall apart when we’re halfway across. That’s Transfiguration 101,” he said the last sentence judgmentally and he could almost feel Derek’s annoyance.

 

“And you think you’re going to find something like that here?” Derek grumbled. “Muggles are the ones who use rubber.”

 

“The Forest is still nature and where there’s nature there’s rubber trees,” Stiles said, pushing aside another vine.

 

Derek grabbed his elbow and Stiles jumped, his feet twisting under him as he shot away the irritating warmth. He nearly fell as his foot caught on another vine but he managed to correct his balance at the last minute. “Jesus, stop grabbing at me! I’m not a toy.”

 

Derek started at the tone and quickly crossed his arms, his face looking tight and guilty. “Sorry. But you’re going the wrong way.”

 

“Really?” Stiles snapped. He wasn’t even sure why he was angry. “Do you have a floral map of the entire Forest in your head or something?”

 

“No,” Derek’s reply was tense and clipped. He pointed to the far left. “But I can smell one over there.”

 

“Oh.” Stiles felt his face burn and was glad it was probably too dark to see. Without looking, he turned left and started forward again. He made it a few steps before he felt Derek’s hand grab his arm again.

 

“I said—“ but before he could finish the mossy give to the ground gave too much. The ground seemed to yank away under his foot. He felt his stomach drop as suddenly as the ground had. Derek’s hand tightened and yanked him back before the sinkhole spread under his other foot.

 

His heart was racing as he gripped Derek now. He knew his fingernails must hurt but he wasn’t about to let the other man go until the stupid fucking Forest stopped trying to kill him.

 

“Sorry,” Derek muttered but didn’t sound apologetic at all this time. “Just thought you might not want to end up as a dinner for that Gangrene-Eater,” he jerked his head to a clump of thick vines that were attached to a base of an oak tree like a growth. The vines of the plant suddenly shifted, an almost grumbling sound as the rough bark scraped against each other. Stiles’s eyes followed one of the moving vines, nearly the width of his arm, as it moved back into place crisscrossed over several others and wiggled until the undergrowth hid it from sight. It was covering a trap, Stiles realised as his grip tightened on Derek’s arm.

 

“They call it that because it likes to immobilize its victims and then eat its limbs as they become infected.” Derek loosened his own hold but it took Stiles several minutes to swallow back the taste of bile and let go of Derek before the other man could feel his hands trembling.

 

Stiles felt sick. “I hate this fucking place.”

 

Derek led the way though Stiles found himself reluctant to be even a step behind him. Even with Derek’s wand still warm and comforting in his grasp he couldn’t help but jump at every shadow now. They didn’t have to go far and it took Derek only a few minutes to shift then maul at the small tree until it fell. Stiles watched as best he could even though it was dark. He had seen pictures of werewolves on full moons, and he knew now what a full shift looked like, but this was different. Derek looked more human than either of those, though it was kind of weird he didn’t have eyebrows.

 

He shifted back without looking at Stiles directly and lifted the tree over a shoulder with surprising strength. “Let’s go.”

 

They made it back to the breaker box without anything else trying to eat him. He had to Transfigure the tree several dozen feet away from the fence but fortunately the spell held when it got close to the Anti-Magic wards on the trees. Derek insisted on going first and Stiles rolled his eyes and let him. Once they were over it was short work to brush the leaves that were half hiding the breaker box.  

 

 Derek hovered as Stiles opened it, ignoring the sticker that said CAUTION: HIGH VOLTAGE. Stiles stared at inside. It was dark but that wasn’t the problem. He had been hoping for something like the fuse box at his father’s house with just a bunch of switches to turn off. Instead a mess of wires stared back at him mockingly. Stiles bit back a groan; he had just managed to figure out basic repair on the computers in his classroom. This was something he was pretty sure even Danny would be stumped with. Still, it wasn’t like he was trying to _fix_ the damn thing, right?

 

He reached to the largest spiral of bright wire but Derek tensed suddenly next to him.

 

“What?” Stiles snapped.

 

“It’s just—“ Derek’s hands were twitching but he didn’t reach to pull Stiles back like he clearly wanted to. “Those are the ones making the most noise.”

 

It looked like it wasn’t just the Forest out to kill him. Stiles drew his shaking hands back. He wished he could Transfigure the tree into gloves but there was no way he could get his magic to work here, no matter how compliant Derek’s wand was. He glanced down at his sneakers, the soles worn thin, and then his eyes drifted to Derek’s feet. “Give me your boots.”

 

Derek took a step back. “Why?”

 

“The soles are thicker than mine,” he said as lifted his own foot for evidence. “Come on, I’ll give them back.”

 

Derek grumbled about how he was lending Stiles a hell of a lot of things but he complied and untied the laces. He passed one shoe to Stiles who didn’t even make a size joke.

 

“You’re sure about this?” Derek asked.

 

“Yeah,” he tried to make his voice light. “I mean, what’s the worst that can happen, right?” He stanched the voice that added _Just a bolt of electricity big enough to stop your heart, you idiot._ Derek shot him a look like he could read his mind but Stiles ignored him. He wedged the heel of the boot behind the loop of the wires and tried his best to secure leverage against the inner wall of the box. He thought about Brett, Mason, Heather, and all other students within Hogwarts’ walls, and yanked as hard as he could.

 

There was a spark and small of fire as the thickest wires ripped free from where they had been wrapped around metal hooks. Then, nothing. The Forest went eerily silent as the hum of the fence faded. Stiles stared at the break box then to the boot in his hand. There was no way it was going to be that easy.

 

As if it had heard him, a small red light on top of the box began to blink.

 

“Crap.” This time it was he who grabbed Derek’s arm. “They must have some kind of alarm. We’ve got to hide.” Derek moved toward the fence but Stiles shook his head.  “We’ve got to stay inside the wards.”

 

“But then we can’t use magic!” Derek hissed.

 

“And neither can they,” Stiles replied grimly. He passed Derek’s boot back and the other man shoved it on quickly. “Come on.”

 

Stiles assumed whoever was at the camp would make a direct line for the breaker box. He figured going in the opposite direction would be exactly where they would look when they realised the wires hadn’t been taken out by natural means. Instead, he started in the direction of the camp.

 

“Stiles—“

 

“Trust me,” he said and Derek’s steps didn’t falter. “Tell me when they start getting close.”

 

Stiles counted as they moved as quickly as they moved uphill, passing between the thin mountain ash trees. Derek slowed them down a little; whenever he saw a rune carved into the bark he clawed it, even though Stiles could see him wince every time. He didn’t try to stop Derek, though. It was a good idea and if they tried to weaken the Anti-Magic spells maybe Jackson wouldn’t Stupefy him on the stop. Although, if he left the wards up Jackson couldn’t do squat, Stiles thought meanly, then remembered how much Jackson’s arms bulged even in his Auror robes and swallowed nervously.

 

After about ten minutes Derek stopped suddenly. Stiles glanced and the man gave a sharp nod in front of them. Quickly, they moved to the first cover they could find, a thick bramble of thorny bushes. It left deep scratches in Stiles’s arms before Derek huffed and pulled him against his chest. Stiles sputtered, about to protest, but he could hear the voices now and shut up. Derek’s jacket took the brunt of the thorns at least.

 

“I’m sick of this.” The guy looked young, about mid-twenties, a handsome with a strong jaw and blond hair. His jaw was clenched in frustration as fortunately for Stiles and Derek, he stalked past their bush without even glancing to the side. In his hand he had a walkie-talkie and Stiles saw him lift it to his mouth again. “The next time the damn thing breaks you’re coming out to fix it.”

 

“ _Garrett, don’t you think I’d volunteer to go out there if I knew how to fix the stupid thing_?” a woman’s voice drawled back, crackling over the walkie-talkie, and Derek stiffened. Stiles winced as claws started to scratch against his stomach and chest. “ _I’m the one that has to babysit_.”

 

“Babysitting,” Garrett said darkly as he weaved around a tree, well past them now. He didn’t raise the radio. “Who the hell would let that woman around kids?”

 

Stiles didn’t miss the irony of that statement coming from guy who was probably the one who had tried to kill Brett.Stiles had to grit his teeth again the pain as Derek’s claw started to prick his skin. Once Garrett was far enough away, he shoved Derek back, preferring the bushe’s scratches to being eviscerated. Derek seemed to snap out of whatever rage he had been building up and looked guiltily at Stiles’s now red spotted shirt.

 

“I’m sorry—“

 

“Save it,” Stiles lifted his shirt. The scratches were shallow and they had already stopped bleeding though they still hurt. “If you can’t control yourself then this isn’t going to work. I’m not a chew toy.”

 

Instead of answering, Derek reached forward and rested a de-clawed hand on the smarting cuts. The muscles in Stiles’s stomach jumped at the touch but then a moment later they relaxed. Stiles felt the blood rush from his head and he swayed but stayed on his feet. Derek drew his hand back, surprise on his face but he met Stiles’s eyes. “More like a scratching post," he muttered humorlessly. 

 

“Ha fucking ha,” Stiles rubbed at the marks through his shirt but they remained blissfully pain free. “But seriously though. What the hell was that?”

 

Derek balled his hands into fists though Stiles noted warily that they remained fur free. “I know who that woman is.”

 

Stiles understood that infliction. Derek _knew_ that woman. He flushed because there was only one reason he knew that made Derek transform involuntarily. “So you and her are—“

 

“Were,” Derek cut in sharply. “Then she killed my entire family.”

 

Okay, Stiles filed that information away for later. Clearly the transformation wasn’t for the same reasons as what had happened with Stiles. He watched Derek struggle for a moment before he let out a breath and relaxed. At least, he hoped they were different reasons. He really hoped Derek hadn’t wanted to murder him viciously while they were making out because if so he was going to have to explain the concept of hard limits to Derek.

 

Stiles judged they had run into Garrett about halfway to the camp and soon enough even Stiles could hear the sounds of people in the distance. They stopped behind a bush several dozen meters to around the camp. This time the leaves were as soft as velvet and smelled like cinnamon. Derek confirmed it was safe to touch and Stiles turned his back to it and sad, bracing his legs against the now steep ground as he let the dense leave act as a backrest.

 

“What do we do now?” Derek whispered as Stiles. Stiles looked at him for a moment, noting the way his eyes seemed too bright and ice blue.

 

“Now we wait for Jackson to come and arrest my unfortunate behind,” Stiles said and settled further into his seat. Derek, still crouched, gave him an disbelieving look.

 

“You’re joking.”

 

"The hell I am,” Stiles crossed his arms in an effort to get warm. Whenever they stopped he could feel the biting air. “Look, Roscoe knows the way back here. Anti-Magic wards or not, the Aurors have the best equipment to deal with this and, frankly, they’re the ones that get their rocks off on running head first into danger. We knocked out a few of the spells, they can probably do the rest.”

 

“You’re afraid,” Derek’s voice was disappointed and angry.

 

“Of course I am,” Stiles snapped. “I did what I could. I gave them the best possible chance to get in. I pay tax dollars just so I don’t have to do this kind of thing.”

 

“That’s so—“ Derek practically spat the next word. “Slytherin.”

 

Stiles shrugged, a little stung at the accusation. “You don’t have to stay you know. If you want to do charging in there be my guest. But I predict you’ll get five steps into the camp and that lady is going to blow you away with whatever firearms they have. And your wand isn’t going to protect you then,” he said pointedly.

 

“You’ve got a gun,” Derek said and Stiles’s hand drifted to the long arm still strapped over his shoulder. He had nearly forgotten about it. 

 

“And we have no idea how many they have,” he said stubbornly. “I learned how to count in Muggle primary school. I thought Wizards had those too.”

 

Derek looked like he wanted to argue more but finally bit out a curse and settled beside Stiles. Stiles couldn’t hide a gloating grin and Derek frowned sourly. “It’s just because I can’t leave you behind. You'll never survive five minutes in this Forest without me.”

 

"How loyal," Stiles said, trying to fight down the sudden inexplicably fondness. "Spoken like a true Hufflepuff." 

 

Derek snorted and shifted until he had shrugged off his jacket. Stiles's triumphant grin vanished when Derek dumped the heavy leather vindictively on his head. 


	16. Oh shit

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 'Oh shit' is right, chapter title! 
> 
> I'm sorry! This chapter has been stuck in Writer's Block for about a month :-( I'm sorry, I do have the end plotted but it's a matter getting from here to there which was frustratingly annoying. Fortunately, this chapter contained about 1000% more Boyd then previous chapters. 
> 
> Also, this chapter kind of earns its rating? Almost? More like an R? Because of graphic blood. Be be aware!

Chapter 16

 

Even without his jacket Derek didn’t feel very cold. It helped that Stiles was listing into his side. Not much time had passed since they had settled into the sweet smelling bush to wait but Stiles’s eye had started to droop as soon as he had pulled the leather jacket over his thin shirt. Derek understood; he could see the moon through the tree. It was almost full. He had never really appreciated it. Until Lydia had started making his potions a few months ago the moon had always been something he resented. Normally, he felt restless and angry at the deceptively soft light but as it glinted off the small upturn of Stiles’s nose he felt something in him loosen and relax, even though every part of his brain told him not to.

 

He looked down at his hands and concentrated on making it change. It was harder than it had been and Derek knew that was because of the Anti-Magic spells surrounding them. But the moonlight seemed to give him an extra boost because, though it felt like moving through molasses, his claws slowly lengthened and retracted.

 

Stiles’s head dipped more, bobbing a little before it found a resting place on Derek’s shoulder. Derek held very still as Stiles let out a small, content huff of air.

 

He was so focused on not moving that he almost didn’t hear the twig snap.

 

The wind that had been in their favour before was blowing the wrong way. Garrett, the blond man who had strolled by them earlier, was no longer so unobservant.

 

He must have seen a trail leading to the bush, Derek realised, his thoughts noting things clinically as his eyes focused on the barrel of the handgun he held confidently pointed at Derek’s face. Derek had thought he had hidden it well but he had never had to do so without his magical concealment spells.

 

Stiles had given back his wand but, even though Derek had clawed out as many Anti-Magic wards as he had seen, he was sure he couldn’t do more than a half-hearted _Lumos_.

 

“Hi,” the man’s voice was casual, almost friendly, as if they were meeting in the street somewhere instead of deep in the Forbidden Forest with a lethal Muggle weapon between them. “It’s a bit of a weird place for a snuggle with your boyfriend, don’t you think?”

 

He glowered, waiting for the man to make the next move and hoping it didn’t involve pulling the trigger. Instead, Stiles lifted his head from Derek’s shoulder; Derek didn’t even know when the other man had woken up.

 

“If you shoot that you’re going to call every Auror within a hundred miles right to this spot,” Stiles said calmly. “Wards or no, any firearms shot this close to the school sound an alert all the way to the Ministry. Trust me, I have to fill out a dozen stupid forms every time Mason wants to test fire something.”

 

Garrett just smirked. There was a click and Derek flinched. The gun didn’t go off and Stiles’s heartbeat steadiest slightly. “Get up.”

 

Slowly, Garrett marched them uphill. He didn’t bother to take Derek’s wand, which Derek thought was foolish. Anti-Magic wards weren’t infallible and if they came down at all Derek would be ready to cast anything short of an Unforgiveable. He did take Stiles’s gun though and slung it over his own shoulder as they walked in silence.

 

Large electrical lights were strung in trees in a circle around the camp. Some were faced outwards, blinding Derek as Garrett urged them into the camp. Once he could see again, he tried to take in as many details as he could. It wasn’t as crude as he expected from a Muggle set up. Two large metal trailers sat at the back of the clearing with more lights mounted on them. A large plastic basin sat between them and Derek smelled fresh, clean water. A large metal box was set up into one side and hummed what felt like a thousand times faster than the electrical fence. Thin wires were strung along the trees and ground like some kind of dead, metal Gangrene-Eater. Everything it touched— lights, the trailers, several other pieces of equipment that Derek couldn’t even fathom the uses of— buzzed with electronic life. The closest thing Derek had seen like this was Stiles’s office but instead of being curious about everything Derek felt uneasiness at each, gleaming surface.

 

“Look at what the cat brought in,” a familiar voice drawled across the camp and Derek whirled to look at Peter. The man was lounging in a folding car near to what looked like a small radio. Derek felt an itch of fur on his face as he let out an animalistic snarl without thinking.

 

Peter looked undisturbed but Garrett tightened his hold on his gun, the cockiness gone from his face. Derek felt his first feeling of satisfaction as the man gave a quick glance to the not-quite full moon. “How the hell are you doing that?”

 

“Remember when I told you my nephew has a few tricks up his sleeve?” Peter drew himself out of his chair. Derek saw him glance at Stiles and a quizzical look crossed over his face. “Though his being here invalidates a few terms of our agreement, don’t you think?”

 

Garrett’s nostrils flared a little as he shot Peter a disgusted look. “Maybe with her. And it’s not like we went looking for this one. If the lambs want to come to the slaughter I’m not going to stop them.”

 

“That’s your uncle?” Stiles hissed out of the side of his mouth.

 

“There’s a reason other than lycanthropy that we keep to ourselves,” Derek replied with a scathing look. If he concentrated he could smell Boyd but he couldn’t see him. When they had hired Braedon and her team as Watchers, initially Braedon had taken over watching Peter as the Alpha. She had lasted two weeks before storming back to the main Hale house claiming that if she spent another minute with the man he was going to be in danger from her. Boyd had lost a tense coin toss and since then he had grumbled but followed Peter, yanking him out of danger with a spiteful sense of duty about it. They all disliked Peter but Derek had known Boyd since he had been a year below him in school; he would the last to abandon the man and to go along with any plots Peter might have.

 

He tried to look around without catching too much attention but Peter smirked.

 

“Don’t worry about the tagalongs,” he crossed his arms, jutting his chin confidently. “I see you forgot your shadow as well. Risky, Derek.”

 

“I’m not always slipping up about my Wolfsbane potion,’ Derek shot back.

 

Peter snorted but turned his eyes on Stiles. “I remember you.”

 

“You’re that guy at the Three Broomsticks,” Stiles’s voice burst out, almost accusatory. His eyes flickered to Derek apologetically. “Someone stabbed him in the Forest.”

 

Peter smiled at Stiles ruefully. “That’s all you remember about me? I’m hurt.”

 

Derek scowled at his uncle again and found himself shifting slightly to put himself between him and Stiles. “Where’s Boyd?”

 

“He’s a little—“ Peter rolled his shoulder back towards one of the trailers and grinned. “Tied up at the moment.”

 

From the way Peter seemed undisturbed by his hired arm’s absence, Derek had little doubt the man was uninvolved. He didn’t understand why though; from the way Garrett had reacted he clearly wasn’t comfortable about werewolves, and Derek didn’t expect anyone would be, especially with the full moon close by. There was no way someone reeking of mistrust like Garrett would be working with an Alpha werewolf—would he?

 

“Where’s Kate?” Garrett broke in, ignoring Stiles and Derek as he directed the harsh question to Peter. The older man finally looked at him with a disdainful roll in his eye.

 

“She said she heard something,” he gestured to the dark Forest behind the trailers.

 

“She’s not supposed to leave you alone,” Garrett sounded pissed off. “What kind of noise?”

 

Peter reached for the small radio and waved it, bored. “Ask her yourself. I don’t understand your Muggle devices.” He said ‘Muggle’ with the air of someone who had to deal with an unpleasant odor and Garrett scowled harder.

 

“Watch them,” he said through gritted teeth and pointed as Stiles and Derek. Stiles threw his hands up in the air defensively, a nervous reflex, and Garrett’s hand touched his gun at the sudden movement. Tinged pink, Stiles lowered his hands and muttered an apology.

 

Though Stiles was trying to look calm on the outside, his heart was thumping wildly. Derek wished he could reassure him but Peter was watching him with too much scrutiny. As Garrett stomped in the direction of the trailers, his own small radio in his hands, Derek took another small step to try and block Stiles from Peter’s sight.

 

“This is a bit far for a little late night canoodling,” Peter said as soon as Garrett was out of earshot. “Though from what Boyd’s told me about you,” he nodded his head at Stiles, “I suppose it was only a matter of time before you tried to wiggle your way into the Hale family. You do know about our little monthly problem though, right?” He glanced at Derek now, something hard in his eyes. “My nephew has a habit of letting the cat out of the bag, so to speak.”

 

If Derek hadn’t felt such a strong rush to rip the man’s throat out he might have been impressed at the skillful way Peter managed to cut right into both of their weak spots. Where he could endure Jackson’s interrogation, Peter was a whole new kind of aggravator. Stiles grabbed the back of Derek’s elbow, digging his fingers into his skin.

 

“You’re just disappointed you missed your chance,” Stiles said coldly.

 

“It is a pity,” Peter said and let his eyes flick up and down Stiles’s body. Only Stiles’s cold hand kept Derek’s feet grounded though it was a fine line. Before he could do something stupid, he turned his back on his uncle and started across the camp to the trailer Peter had pointed out earlier. He saw Stiles made a rude gesture at Peter from the corner of his eye and then the younger man jogged to catch up with him.

 

“Jesus, I never thought I’d meet Hannibal Lector in real life,” he said, making sure he was loud enough for Peter to hear.

 

The disgust in his voice was enough to Derek to grasp that whoever Hannibal Lector was, it wasn’t a compliment. “There’s a black sheep in every family,” Derek said as he climbed the steps to the trailer door, repeating the words his mother had often told him when he and Peter fought. “Unfortunately, black sheep are all that’s left.”

 

Derek opened the door and Stiles reached around him to hit a panel on the wall that light up the room. Derek knew he shouldn’t have been but he was startled to discover the trailer was a small inside as it had been out. There was a narrow aisle to the left between two counters with a crude sink and what must have been a kitchen. In front of the door was a small area that looked like it would have been for chairs or a table but was stacked with long metal boxes that were covered in impressive looking locks and Anti-magic runes. On the opposite side of the kitchen was a ladder that must lead to some kind of sleeping space.

 

Boyd was in the kitchen area, his arms and legs bound to a study looking chair. He had been balancing on his feet, his face outstretched to reach something in the cabinet. When the lights came on, however, they must have startled him. The quick reflexes that Derek had seen snapped Peter back from whatever mischief he tried to get into worked counter-productively now as Boyd tried to whirl. It was like someone had cast a Vicious charm, everything seemed to slow down as the legs of the chair crashed solidly into the counter, sending Boyd crashing to the ground, unable to catch himself with his hands. Boyd was a big man and he went down with a big yelp, dishes, cutlery and what looked like wires and metal hitting the ground around him with a bang.

 

Derek and Stiles froze in the doorway.

 

Then, Boyd let out a groan and Stiles ducked under Derek’s arm nimbly climbing over the debris in the narrow space.

 

“Sorry, dude!” Stiles brace himself on the chair so he could peer at Boyd’s face instead of his feet. “Didn’t mean to scare you! Are you okay?”

 

Boyd groaned again, this time frustrated. “Stilinski, either help me or get off my knee.”

 

Stiles scrambled back with an apology. Derek waded through the mess. Stiles was pulling at the ropes but whoever had tied them had meant business. Derek grabbed a knife that thankfully hadn’t falling to the ground and quickly they cut Boyd free. The larger man climbed to his feet slowly, rubbing his wrists and eyeing both of them with resignation.

 

“Braedon is going to kill me.”

 

“According to wall graffiti in the west tower, Braedon is going to kill us all one day,” Stiles replied with a raised eyebrow. “How did you know my name?”

 

Boyd had been inspecting a gash on his forearm and slowly looked up, meeting Stiles’s eyes. “I get debriefed on our all of our client’s,” he glanced at Derek before looking back with a half-smile, “recreational activities.”

 

Stiles rolled his eyes. “I’m never going to outlive this reputation.”

 

Boyd shrugged one shoulder. “Not as long as you keep making eyes at old men in pubs.”

 

“That was _one time_ ,” Stiles muttered.

 

Derek hated this conversation. “How about we get to the part where you are in here tied to a chair, Peter is outside lording around like he’s the Minister of Magic, and, oh yes, students and teachers keep on _dying_.”

 

Boyd narrowed his eyes. “I’ll get right on that as soon as I get you two back to the castle. It’s not safe for you here,” he directed that to Derek.

 

“It’s not safe for anyone,” Stiles shot back, his tone dark with anger. He gestured to the metal boxes behind them. “I know what a gun locker looks like. What the hell kind of group has an arsenal like this? It’s a _school_ , for Christsake.”

 

“It’s a school for witches and wizards who have a caste system in place to oppress anyone without magic,” He said this calmly but there was a laced anger in his voice that matched Stiles’s. “Or at least that’s what people like Garrett think. Students aren’t kids to them, they’re the people who abandoned them because they weren’t special enough. Why the hell do you think they call themselves the Orphans?”

 

Stiles didn’t have an answer for that. “It’s not just about magical creatures then,” he finally said in a flat tone. “They really just hate magic.”

 

“They’re not fans, no,” Boyd said. “And they’ve realised they need at least some magical allies. They’ve been recruiting. Not just Squibs either. Muggleborns, Muggle families, people who were tired of being put on the side by the Ministry. They even tried to get that Muggleborn werewolf kid but he wasn't having it. I figured it out when I found Peter with a half-dead coyote in his hands," Boyd was scowling at the memory. "The only reason they're keeping me alive is because I promised Garrett I could handle Peter if he gets out of control. But you know as well as I do there's not much I can do without magic."

 

“That’s not right,” Stiles couldn’t seem to stop arguing with Boyd and Derek could see the other man’s mouth set in an annoyed line. “They were trying to _kill_  Brett.”

 

“Some of them, yeah,” Boyd turned his back on Stiles to start rooting through the cupboards now that his hands were free. “Garrett wants nothing more than to hack apart anyone with an ounce of extra magic. But some see werewolves and vampires as a way in.”

 

“Kate Argent wants the Bite,” Derek said. Stiles’s eyes went wide but Boyd just nodded grimly. “That’s why she found Peter. She wanted to make a deal.”

 

Boyd found what he was looking for and turned around, a thin, willowy wand in his hand. “Right. Only you have to switch Peter and Kate around to get it.” He said the words with a grimace. “I knew he was up to something when we came here but I thought it was because he wanted to get to whatever potion that professor at Hogwarts is making for you. I should have known what he was up to when he landed us in the Forest instead of Hogsmeade. He was setting things up for his plan with Kate. She was the one to attack us in the Forest,” he said it that Stiles. “I didn’t know who she was at the time but Peter clearly did. Her, Garrett and some other woman have been setting up camp here waiting for the others to arrive, the ones that want the Bite. Peter was planning on turning as many as he could and then they were going to sneak into Hogwarts through the tunnels.”

 

“Violet,” Stiles muttered. The name didn’t mean anything to Derek. “She was a witch in my year, a good one too,” he explained quickly. “But she didn’t get her letter until she was older, the Ministry had trouble finding her. She never really liked them very much but I never thought—“

 

“I think Peter killed her,” Boyd said, cutting Stiles off. “I get the impression she didn’t like the plan.”

 

“She had her throat torn out,” Stiles protested. “How did Peter manage that?”

 

Boyd let out a frustrated huff. “I don’t know. I was keeping an eye on him, I swear but--“ There was a guilty expression on his face. “It’s hard, being away from Erica,” he looked apologetically at Derek. “I have no idea how he managed to get his hands on something to help him transform outside of the full moon.”

 

Derek knew exactly how. He could feel sharp pain as his claws dug through his palm. After the fire, when Derek and Cora had been all but living at St. Murgo’s and Laura had wanted to stay in more contact than Floo or owls could provide, she had gotten special permission to hang that Hale tapestry at the school. It was made with magic so old and blood-let no one knew exactly how it worked. All Derek knew what that the wolfhounds were loyal to anyone in the family; as long as they could travel through nearby portraits they could fetch or pass nearly anything, letters, lost homework, missing socks—

 

Any extra potions Lydia might have left around in the nearly forgotten dungeon.  

 

Peter and Kate? Peter had known about Kate and Derek’s twisted relationship. The man was a Slytherin down to his marrow, he would have figured out Kate's manipulation the same way as Laura had. Anger was clouding his confusion. What could Peter possibly want from Kate besides revenge? His blood jackhammered in his body, the pull of the moon drawing the familiar rage to the surface.

 

A cold hand touched his arm. His red tinted vision focused on Stiles.

 

“Dude,” Stiles’s voice was calm. “Calm down. We’ve got to get out of here. We’ve got to meet the Aurors and let them know.”

 

“Know what?” Derek wasn’t entirely surprised when his words came out garbled from the fangs in his mouth. “If they come then it means Malia and Kira already told them about the camp. They'll be ready.“

 

“Sure, yeah, they know there some kind of anti-magical camp up here,” Stiles said. “But if Boyd is right, and somehow Peter can do this,” he wildly gestured at Derek’s mutated face, teeth and claws, “whenever the hell he wants then we have to assume that he’s probably already been experimenting with his whole free-for-all Alpha wolfy biting power. We have no idea how many brand spanking new werewolves are just fiddling around with their Portkeys ready to ambush this place.”

 

“Even if Peter can transform it doesn’t mean they can,” Boyd protested. "The full moon is tomorrow, remember?"

 

“Yeah, but they do have enough of an arsenal to save the Alamo,” Stiles retorted. He raised a knowing eyebrow at Boyd. “I’m a worst case scenario kind of person. You can make fun of me later if it turned out Peter isn’t strong enough to turn anyone into anything but a Flubberworm.”

 

Derek forced himself to calm down. Stiles’s cold hand on his skin helped to temper the hot-blooded anger. He felt everything recede inside his skin again and when he blinked the small trailer looked clearer.

 

“Then let’s go,” Derek said. “We’ll probably be able to meet them half way.”

 

“Good,” Boyd managed to shift past them in the small space, only stepped on Stiles’s foot and making him squawk once. He made sure to position himself in front of them as he put a hand on the lever. “The sooner we get out of this camp the better. All these wards make the Forest feel… unnatural.”

 

The area around the fire pit was empty. Boyd moved cautiously down the steps, his wand out even though they all knew it was useless. Peter was gone, which was surprising. Derek had expected to open the door to the man pressing his ear against it.

 

The quiet didn’t relax Boyd. He watched the trees where Garrett had gone into. Derek sniffed the air, trying to pinpoint a scent but Peter had apparently been busy while they were distracted. He had spread something strong smelling around the camp and it made his nose sting. He tried to sharpen his hearing but instead of heartbeats all he could get was the incessant electrical buzz this close to the giant metal box.

 

Every twig sounded like a footfall in the darkness, every blink brought a flash that could be a gun muzzle. Derek hovered so close to Stiles’s heels he kept on stepping on the backs of his sneakers. Stiles glared at him but didn’t say a word. Derek tried to back off, he really did, but he could feel the light of the moon burning through his shirt in the back like it was a hot summer day. He felt itchy, not the same way he usually felt like close to a transformation, but as a nagging sensation like something was trying to get his attention. He tried to ignore it.

 

They moved past the outer lights. Derek felt better in the shadows. Even Boyd dropped his wand hand a fraction of an inch. Derek scratched out another anti-magic ward on a tree as they passed it.   

 

“You’re going to leave a trail,” Stiles scolded under his breath.

 

“I can’t help it,” Derek said back just as quietly. “They feel bad.”

 

“Try,” Stiles ordered. Derek went to reply back but as they moved further away from that electrical box he could hear more and more of the Forest coming alive.

 

All he heard was a soft exhale of someone’s breath followed by a tiny, metallic click. He threw himself on Stiles, knocking both himself, Boyd and Stiles down. The undergrowth here was thick, the force of his body made them all slide into a thick, thorny bush, the same he and Stiles had jumped in when they had hid from Garrett earlier. He could smell fresh blood as the thorns cut him again now.

 

“Derek, what the hell!” Stiles kept his voice quiet despite his tone and he twisted, kicking his feet to get free. Boyd had already recovered, his eyes scanning the dark Forest as he crouched in the bush, unmindful of the thorns.

 

Derek went to speak again, though whether to apologise or explain he didn’t know. The taste of copper filled his mouth as blood bubbled from his throat instead. Stiles stared at him, anger turning to confusion then horror.

 

“Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit, oh shit.”

 

The right side of his body felt numb until it didn’t. It felt like a Hippogriff had kicked him but the pain plunged deep inside. He tried to breath, getting a fair amount of blood with his air as his hand slipped on the leaves, unable to support his weight any more.

 

“Oh _shit_.”

 

 

  


	17. Now you've gone and done it

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whaaaaat? Another chapter so soon? What is this magic?
> 
> (It's Hogwarts, guys. Duh)
> 
> I'm sorry it's so short. But that last cliffhanger was too cruel.

Stiles had seen bullet wounds before. How many times had he and Scott sat through Training Day? He knew the science of it. When his mother had died he had spent weeks researching so he’d be ready if something ever happened to his dad. He had also shot enough things, usually some kind of plant Mason was testing potion stuffed bullets on, to know how organic material exploded from the impact.

 

All of that didn’t prepare him for the heavy, suffocating, copper smell.

 

It wasn’t a through and through, Stiles knew rationally, because there was only one hole in Derek’s ribcage to block up with his hands. Derek’s eye were wide and impossibly pale in the moonlight as he gurgled something. There was a pink foam around his mouth and Stiles wondered if he was supposed to wipe it away.

 

Boyd’s hands grabbed Stiles’s shoulder and he yanked him further into the scratchy bush. Stiles’s hands went from blocking blood flow to pulling Derek with him. Usually, someone as big and dense as a guy like Derek would be a deadweight if he tried to pull them but Stiles knew he must be tripping on some pretty amazing adrenaline because Derek moved easily now.

 

It was terrible cover, Stiles argued at Boyd mentally. Leaves, brambles and thorns weren’t much protection against bullets.

 

Boyd muttered something under his breath but his wand did nothing except glow feebly and then die out. He said something foul about dragon dung and where the Orphans could shove it.

 

“He’s got to get to Hogwarts,” Stiles said. “He needs the infirmary.”

 

“Great observation, Stilinski,” Boyd rumbled. “Really astute.”

 

Stiles ignored him and yanked off the leather jacket. It wasn’t the most absorbent material but he wasn’t trying to soak up Derek’s blood, he was trying to keep it in. Leather was made from animal skin; logically that would work, right? He braced himself on the mulch ground and leaned his full weight on the wound. Derek groaned and his eyes rolled in his head.

 

“This wasn’t what we had discussed,” Peter’s voice was drawling somewhere in the woods. If he was upset his tone didn’t betray it.

 

A woman’s voice answered, thick and brassy with a hint of humour. “I said I wouldn’t hunt him. I never said I wouldn’t kill him if he walked right up to me.”

 

“Hunting, killing, I thought it covered the whole lexical branch.”

 

“Well, how about I promise to not shoot him again?” the woman’s voice was mockingly apologetic.

 

“You are going to go,” Boyd said so low Stiles barely heard him. “They’re that way,” he pointed two fingers in the direction they had crawled into the bush then turned and pointed in a diagonal to the left. “If you go out the back of this bush you can get away.”

 

“Yeah fucking right,” Stiles could feel the cold sweat dripping down his back, over his eyebrows. Without the jacket he was back to feeling the full effect of the chilly night but sheer terror apparently ran his sweat glands on overdrive. “I’ll bet Garrett is bringing up the rear waiting to pick us off.”

 

“Why aren’t they shooting more?” Boyd wondered, ignoring Stiles even though he seemed to know he had a point.

 

“Whatever deal Peter and that crazy-ass hunter have it means not killing Derek, though honestly I think that’s basically a contract well voided,” he swallowed hard. Derek groaned again as if protesting the mention that he was dying. Stiles tried to think. He shoved at the tight feeling in his stomach, the bulky, molasses-like addition to his limbs that fear had brought on. There was no time for that. This wasn’t getting chased up a tree in the middle of the night, waiting until morning for someone to find him. Even if the Aurors did come charging over the hill, there was nothing to stop that woman, Kate it seemed, from picking them off one by one. Aurors didn’t have bulletproof vests, they couldn’t use shield spells and they didn’t know how to lay down cover fire without anything to fire with. As much as Jackson pissed him off he didn’t want to see the man dead.

 

Stiles lifted one hand from the jacket. He grabbed Boyd’s and pressed it down. Boyd glanced at him but it was too dark for him to make out Boyd’s expression. Boyd shifted though, moving to press both his hands down hard so Stiles could let go.

 

“If you stick to the shadows Garrett won’t be able to see you,” Boyd said confidently. That was bull, and he knew it. Stiles snorted to let Boyd he knew as well. Slowly, he moved to a crouch.

 

“Keep pressure on that,” Stiles ordered firmly. He didn’t know how much Muggle first aid Boyd had and he didn’t want to find out with a dead corpse. Then, he moved towards the direction Boyd had pointed out earlier.

 

“What the hell—“ Boyd swore and went to grab at him but Stiles moved too quickly. Boyd had to shift back to keep pressure on Derek’s ribs. Stiles ducked out of the bush, his hands raised and his body feeling white and numb with panic.

 

Kate and Peter had been talking but they shut up now. Without the bush acting as a shadow, Stiles could see more in the moonlight as his eyes adjusted. Peter was leaning against a tree, his arms crossed and his expression curious. Stiles looked where Boyd had pointed, then up until he could see a woman in black clothes, the glint of light off her rifle the only give away. She had it pointed at Stiles now.

 

“And who might you be?”

 

“Stiles. I work at Hogwarts,” he said, his voice quivering. “Muggle Studies.”

 

Kate let out a barking laugh. She was beautiful, Stiles could see that clearly, but when she lifted her eyes off the scope to look at him unaided there was something dark in them. “Muggle Studies? Do you like to collect Muggle stamps or something? No, you look like an electrical gadget kind of guy. Did seeing our generator get you off? How hot did that fuse box make you?”

 

He rolled his eyes. It was easier to be brave when he was reciting the same defensive arguments he had had since he had been eleven. “Thanks, but according to my parents I finished fussing around with electricity when I was three and stuck a fork in a socket. My mom had to hit me with a broom.”

 

The woman paused. “I suppose that explains the hair.” She paused, shifting a little. Though Stiles could see her well enough now that he knew what to look for it was still to dark to see what she was thinking. Finally, she spoke again. “Who invented Facebook?”

 

“Mark Zuckerberg,” Stiles sent a brief thank you to whoever the hell thought it would be a good idea to make _Social Media._

 

“Team Edward or Team Jacob?”

 

“I’m Team Bella, most days.” A knot loosened in his stomach.

 

Kate paused. “When do Luke and Leia Skywalker get married: Next Generation or The Fellowhsip of the Ring?”

 

Stiles felt insulted as he tried to unravel everything that was wrong with that question. Before he could answer, Kate laughed, clearly seeing his disgust it seemed because she relaxed her grip on her gun.

 

“What do you want?” the humour was gone from Peter’s face. He was watching Stiles with suspicion but Stiles felt more of his nerves drain away. He let his elbows sag a little as he raised an eyebrow in Peter’s direction. Slowly, he let his eyes take in the older man's body, hoping like hell Derek was too out of it to see him skeeving on his uncle. It didn't look like Peter had any weapons on him, he had even ditched the walkie-talkie. He might be hiding a wand or a knife somewhere but at least it didn't look like he had a gun.

 

“Really?” Peter rolled his eyes but Stiles saw him take a quick glance over Stiles as well. If the sight of his nephew's body staining Stiles's hands down to his wrists and splattered all over his shirt he didn't react.

 

“I want to join you,” Stiles said the words with as much conviction as he could. Peter stared at him for a moment before laughing as Kate had earlier.

 

“Nice try,” Peter managed to say with a smug grin. “But I can read your heartbeat. You’re lying.”

 

He could _hear_ that? Stiles remembered Derek tapping his chest, telling him he couldn’t lie from there. At the time he had just thought Derek had been talking about something touchy-feely, like he couldn’t lie to his true heart, but apparently he had been talking literally. “Okay, fine,” Stiles’s mind shifted, slotting a new plan in place. “I didn’t come out here to join you. But it’s not like I don’t get it.”

 

The woman shifted on her perch but the muzzle didn’t dip. Peter tilted his head, curious as to what Stiles would say next.

 

“I spent years in Muggle Liaison. You think you’ve seen prejudice? If I have to help one more wizard fill out an A-4b Unwitting Disturbance form for trying to shove Gallons into a Muggle self-serve station—anyway, not the point,” he said hastily when he saw Kate frown. “All you guys have to do is disappear in the Muggle world for a bit. No one knows about magic there, you’re just another face in the crowd. Me? I can’t just be a Muggle. I’d spend every day worried that I’d slip up and _Accio_ my keys in public somewhere.”

 

“Poor you,” Kate seemed unimpressed. Stiles licked his suddenly dry lips.

 

“I can’t live like a wizard either,” he continued, praying this would work. “Ever since I got that stupid Hogwarts letter I’ve had to listen to the way they talk about my father, like he’s some kind of half person.” Stiles let the familiar annoyance flourish into anger as hurtful phrases rose from his memory. He had a clear image of the patronizing looks his father had gotten the first time they had gone to Diagon Alley, the pitying pats on the head as they struggle to count out Sickles at the bookstore and gaped at the candy shops. He hoped Peter could read his heartbeat now. “I’m sick of it. I’ve always been sick of it and I can’t just live like a wizard and think about my family like that.”

 

Kate glanced at Peter but he just nodded confirmation that Stiles was telling the truth.

 

“Well, I’m really happy for you that you can empathize,” Kate said snidely. “But the fact remains when we all get back from school break my parents fawned over my brother’s Exceeds Expectations in Transfigurations. Do you think they did the same when I showed them my A in physics? I could have gotten a D and told them it stood to ‘Delightful’ and they wouldn’t have even cared to check.”

 

Stiles felt a cold sensation down his back. She was going to slaughter a bunch of children because her parents hadn’t been over the moon over a report card?

 

“I _belong_ to the magical world,” her face seemed to grow shadows, as if her angry conviction was contorting her face into something ugly. “People like you are a mistake, nature made a mistake because that power you have was meant to go to _me_.”

 

It wasn’t the first time Stiles had heard that argument but it was the first time from a non-witch or wizard. It didn’t sound any more rational coming from her. “Maybe it is a mistake,” Stiles said placating. “But I’m stuck with it now. It’s not like killing me, or killing another wizard, is going to help it.”

 

“No,” she admitted and Stiles sighed as she lowered her rifle. “But it sure makes me feel a hell of a lot better.”

 

It wasn’t the shadows. Her forehead was bulged out, like something had forced her skull to become too big for her head. Her already wide face was broader and when she smiled Stiles realised it was to accommodate her razor-sharp teeth. Her muscles seemed to have grown too, making her dark clothes tight across her chest and arms. It was her eyes, though, that spooked Stiles the most. They were a baby blue, bright either because of the moon or just from whatever zeal she seemed to have grown excited from. Stiles’s dry mouth felt like a desert. His arms dropped to his sides as he gaped at her.

 

“Oh, come on,” Peter rolled his eyes. “That’s supposed to be a secret.”

 

Kate ignored him and she leapt to the ground. Stiles jumped back, nearly stumbling over his own feet as she landed lightly in a crouch, untroubled by a distance that would probably have broken both of Stiles’s ankles.

 

This cleared up the question about whether or not Peter could turn someone, Stiles’s analytical inner voice chimed in helpfully. And whether they needed an actual full moon to transform.

 

She straightened, adjusting her gun. It looked smaller than he thought it would be. He was sure the mags and ammo he had seen in the camper were for high range weapons, assult rifles and things that had no business being pointed any anything with a pulse. It took him a second to recognise his own weapon that Garrett had taken off of him. That's what had shot Derek. His heart froze and his treasonous brain scolded him because certainly Peter was listening in. However, he supposed it didn't matter.

 

Wolfsbane infused shells, that's what he had loaded in there in preparation. His brain threw a wall of expletives at himself. He hadn't thought too much about it when he had grabbed them from the locker. He had been looking for anything that could take out the biggest and baddest beasts in the Forest and there was no doubt that Wolfsbane was at the top of that list. Derek would have probably healed if it had been any other bullet, Stiles had seen Peter's wound knit together like silk when they had met in the Three Broomsticks though he hadn't realised it at the time. This, though, this was much, much worse. He had to act-- now.

 

His hands shot up again and he fell back another step.

 

“So, you became a werewolf,” he tried to keep his voice conversational. “And, clearly you know it’s not the life sentence it used to be. There’s all sorts of MOM programs, research, trial tests to help people such as yourself adjust to—“

 

She snarled, snapping her teeth and Stiles flinched hard. Derek had done this. He had seen Derek shift, in much tighter corners than this. He had pressed Stiles against that wall in the alcove just a few hours earlier, his claws digging holes into his shirt. But Stiles hadn’t been afraid then. He didn’t know why, exactly, but even though Derek had been an inch from his throat and Kate was still several meters away, he had only felt a tugging apprehension in his stomach with Derek. With Kate he felt an all too familiar terror chill though his veins.

 

“I’m sorry,” Peter sounded more annoyed than apologetic. “I thought since she just ate she would be more open to suggestion.” As she got closer Stiles realised her clothes were just dark in colour but they were also soaked nearly black with blood. Garrett hadn’t been circling behind them after all. “She seemed particularly fond of livers so I hope you haven’t poisoned yours too much with all that Fire Whiskey.”

 

Kate tossed the gun to the side. Stiles’s eyes darted to it, wondering if he stood a chance at getting to it before she ripped out his throat. She followed his eyes and grinned like a cat as if daring him to do it.

 

Stiles spared a thought for Boyd and Derek in the bush before he turned and fled.

 

His body was exhausted, the cold of the night, the cuts and bruises from trampling through the Forest, and the hungry hollowness in his stomach making his stagger more than run. However, his brain felt more awake and aware than it had ever been. He tried to weave between the trees, his feet catching on stones and roots though, miraculously, he didn’t fall. He was grateful to be in his sneakers rather than some kind of fancy heeled boot that most professors favoured. He ran, making sure the moon was to his back.

 

He could hear Kate behind him, though she kept her distance. She was looking for a chase-- _hunting_ as Peter called it. Stiles tried to not think about all the venison he had eaten in the Great Hall. He stumbled through a burrowed pile of leaves, making enough noise that if there was anything hungry in the trees they would probably join in on the hunt. He didn’t care. It was Kate that he was worried about and she was playing with him, like a cat with a mouse. Wasn’t she supposed to be a canine? Stiles thought angrily as he caught himself on a tree. His hand brushed claw marks, an Anti-Magic ruin slashed useless by Derek’s claw. He pushed himself forward, ignoring the burn in his lungs and legs and the way his heart was pounding hard enough it felt like it was going to rip through his chest.

 

His luck gave out. He tripped over, flailing wildly and only just managing to throw his hands out in front of him to save himself from a broken nose. His hands tore open on the rocks as he glanced back to see what he had fallen over. He could only just make out the thin metal wire strung between the two trees. Garrett hadn't fixed the electric fence before Kate ate him, _thank the Lord_ , Stiles managed to spare a thought.

 

There was a howl, terrifying in its closeness. Stiles pushed himself to his feet, staggering forward before his hands were off the ground. There was another howl, but this one was further away. Peter?

 

He forced any thoughts other than running from his mind. Kate would get bored soon and he had to be ready for that.

 

The Forest seemed darker as he moved away from the Anti-Magic wards. Derek and Boyd had been right, now that Stiles was outside of them the blanketing feeling of the magic from the Forest was dense. It may have been comforting, if Stiles didn’t feel like every time his heart beat he was drawing something closer to kill him. His legs felt like rubber as he pushed on, the Forest a dark, shadowed blur as he struggled to put as much distance between him and the camp.

 

The skin on the back of his neck felt suddenly cold. Something swiped at his feet. A wet feeling pain followed as he went down on his already injured hands and elbows. He heard Kate snap at his heels, darting back playfully, as he yanked them out of her reach, scrambling on his knees now until he could force his knees to straightened again. Kate woofed, an attempt at another pants-wetting howl but getting caught in what could only be a laugh. Hatred welled up in Stiles, nearly overcoming his fear as he ran. Not much further now.

 

Just when he thought he couldn't run another yard, the ground was suddenly not pine needles and undergrowth anymore. He stumbled on the suddenly bumpy, uneven gnarled bark.

 

Air whistled by his ear as a vine missed, try to snap around his neck. His entire body shaking, he ducked, praying that this plan would work. He scrambled on his hands and knees across the now waking vine trapdoor, everything last ounce of strength feeling like it was burning through him as he scrambled to make it just one more foot.

 

Kate’s woofs turned to a sharp yelp and he felt a brief moment of sadistic glee before the ground started to slip away as the vine plant drew back its trap. He dug his nails into the rough bark, feeling them rip in his nail beds as he clawed at them, nothing but sheer survival instinct driving him up instead of into the sudden emptiness below his knees.

 

There was another swipe from Kate, she was only inches below, but she hadn’t managed to grab hold like he had. His hands hit the edge of the pit, he grabbed at the soft earth, feeling it slip between his fingers and nearly losing his precious hold before he managed to get a toe into a rock on the ledge and push himself onto his elbows. One knee, then the other, he didn’t care what he looked like, how covered in mud and Forest floor he was as he struggled to push as much distance between him and the Gangrene-Eater as possible.

 

The fumes of fear and pain got him as far as the next large tree, this one not infested, and he collapsed under it. He heard a sharp crack and an enraged howl as the vines struggled to break werewolf bones. As a human, Stiles knew he should care about the well-being of a person but in this moment all he could feel was relief and satisfaction. There was another howl before it was cut short and muffled.

 

Stiles rested his head on a rock, which somehow felt like the softest down pillow imaginable, and caught his breath.

 

 

 


	18. Wolfsbane

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Man, I miss Jackson on the show. He's a peach to write.

Chapter 18

 

            Warm hands were on his face. A blanket that felt like a dozen warm, wiggling puppies settled over him and made him realise just how uncomfortable and cold pine cones felt when they were wedged under your ass.

 

            “Stilinski,” the voice was flat, angry, and made Stiles smile in contentment. “What the hell is this?”

 

            Stiles blinked open his eyes. A ripped piece of paper was dangling in front of his eyes. He saw his own messy writing lit up by the tip of Jackson's wand.

 

            _Jackson,_

_Gone to save Malia. You were wrong. Ha ha. Next round at the Hog's Head_ _is_ _on you._

 

_Love, Stiles_

 

            Malia. Kate. The electrical fence. _Derek_.

 

            He threw off the blanket, the cold air hitting him like icy knives. “Derek- He's, we've got to go get him.”

 

            There were more Aurors around them, their scarlet robes somehow blending into the dark violets of the Forest. Two of them had their wands out, eyeing the Gangrene-Eater as it let out a quiet belch, sedated for now. Stiles glanced at his watch, the green display showing that at least his little nap hadn't been for too long, though it might still be too late.

 

            Jackson stubbornly wrapped the blanket around him again, swaddling his arms to his sides like he was a squirmy cat as Stiles tried to get up. Instead, he drunkenly swayed against Jackson's chest.

 

            “Do you have any idea how long it took us to track you? Your magical trace just vanished. We would probably still be tripping over our asses if you hadn’t shot off your stupid gun.” Stiles suspected Jackson would be yelling if they were anywhere but deep inside the most dangerous magical Forest on the continent. “Azkaban is too good for you. I'm going to find you your own island somewhere near Siberia and leave your ass to freeze there.”

 

            Stiles's teeth started to chatter as the warmth settled past his skin. There must have been some kind of soothing charm in the blanket as well as the warming ones because the bruises and aches along his body quieted for the moment.

 

            “Kira was supposed to lead you here,” Stiles struggled to focus. As steady as Jackson was, the ground was looking inviting again. “Roscoe would have taken you.”

 

            “I haven’t seen Kira since this afternoon,” Then, Jackson rolled his eyes. “Roscoe— Merlin, that's the car you tried to petition to bring to school in sixth year, isn't it? I wouldn't get into that deathtrap if you paid me my weight in gold.”

 

             “You _volunteered_ to ride a Chinese Fireball _dragon_ in Magical Creatures class in sixth year!” he glared before Jackson’s first words sunk in. “Wait, you mean Kira didn't send you?"

 

            The confused annoyance on Jackson's face was enough of an answer. Stiles felt his fatigue drain away. As quickly as he could, he told them the events of that night.It was clear that the rest of the Auror's had trouble believing the urgent story Stiles told but Jackson at least was willing to agree they had to go look for Derek, if just to confirm.

 

             At least he didn’t have to work too hard to them to believe what had happened with Kate. No one was willing to get too close to the vined plant but they had all heard stories about it. From the lack of human or werewolf sounds, Stiles realized with horror that Derek hadn't been one hundred percent right about its eating habits. Clearly the Gangrene-Eater was less picky about keeping its prey alive when said prey was as violent and fast healing as a werewolf. There was a Kate-sized mass near the base of the tree the plant had infested. Stiles could see the thick, bark-like skin rippling over it every so often, like a video Stiles had once seen of a boa constrictor eating a deer. Jackson didn't flinch when Stiles told him that but he did look a little green every time he glanced over at the large lump.

 

             Before they left however, Jackson pulled out a small, fist sized bronze mirror. The other four Aurors were watching him with narrowed eyes so Stiles stuck to Jackson’s side. He nosed glanced over the taller man’s shoulder to watch, still clutching the blanket for warmth, as Jackson tapped it with his wand and the cloudy surface bubbled. Gradually, Lydia's face pressed out from the metal like someone was pushing the back of it. There were blemishes and scratches marring her normally smooth and perfect face.

 

             Jackson shot a smug look as Stiles gaped. “It doesn’t break like a mirror does in the field.”

 

             When she spoke, her voice was tired and tinny as it reverberated through the metal.

 

             “ _Jackson, I told you I’m working tonight. I don’t want to hear again about whatever article in Witch’s Weekly you found about using pigeons over owls for long distance relationships or—“_

             “Lydia!” Jackson cut her off and Stiles was delighted to see the tips of his ears go pink. “Have you seen the Yukimura girl anywhere?”

 

             Lydia paused. Her bronzed eyebrows knit together as she glared, this version of her face no less fierce for the size. “ _What part of delicate, don’t-fuck-me-up potion do you not understand? You have a whole team of Aurors to track people down for you, get them to do it!”_

             “I would,” Jackson’s words were tight as he seemed to almost speak through his grinding teeth, “but they are all here with me. Lydia, it’s important. She’d be with Malia Tate.”

 

             The little eyebrows shot up almost to where the slope of Lydia’s forehead emerged from the bronze. “ _I thought_ —“

 

             Stiles wrapped his hand around the bronze piece over Jacksons, shoving his face cheek to cheek, so close he could feel a scratchy patch on Jackson’s jaw where he had missed shaving. Stiles assumed his own visage must have shoved in alongside Jackson’s on the other side of the connection abruptly because Lydia’s face wobbled for a moment as she fumbled with her own device. “Hey, Lydia, look, there’s been a bit of a fuck up here in the Forest and I would really appreciate it if you could take a look around for Kira and Malia.”

 

             “ _Stiles, what the hell? I thought Jackson arrested you! I thought Malia was d_ ead!”

             “She isn’t, and he did,” Stiles gave Jackson a side glare but Jackson didn’t notice. He was struggling to keep his balance as Stiles practically climbed him like a backpack. “Derek broke me out—“

 

             “The good-for-nothing little—“ Jackson muttered and tried to wrestle the mirror out of his reach.

 

             “—and we went to stop the Orphans but that went a little astray—“

 

             “Let go of my mirror!”

 

             “—and last I saw Malia was alive but in pretty rough shape so if you could just pop over to the—“

 

             “Stilinski, _stop spooning me_!”

 

             “Uh, sir?” one of the Auror’s cleared her throat. Jackson froze, suddenly realizing what a ridiculous spectacle he and Stiles made. He let out a huff of resignation and then very deliberately shifted his weight. Stile flipped over his shoulder in the perfectly executed move. The ground was hard on his backside but Jackson apparently cared for him enough to cradle the back of his head to keep it from hitting the ground as well. Still, Stiles didn’t feel particularly grateful as the jolt made every other pain in his body reawaken.

 

             Jackson slapped the bronze plate on his chest before he climbed over Stiles’s shoulder, kneeing him in the neck and not so much tripping as stomping on Stiles’s thigh as he strode briskly to his team. Stiles muttered a very bad word about Jackson’s mother and whatever relations she may have had with a purpled horned wildebeest but the Aurors ignored him.

 

            He realized the ticklish sensation on his collarbone was the movement of Lydia’s face trying to speak. Quickly, he pulled the bronze away from his skin and met her slightly smushed nose. The mirror took a moment for the malleable metal to shift back into shape but it was easy enough to read her pissed off expression.

 

            “ _Explain_.”

 

            Stiles glanced at his watch. How long did it take a werewolf to bleed to death? How did one work wolfbane bullets into that equation? Did whatever experimental potion Lydia was making him help or hurt? He was afraid to find out the answers.

 

            “I don’t have time,” Stiles ran his free hand over his hair, pausing to scrub the dryness of his eyes. His hand came back blood streaked from the numerous cut he had and he winced. “What would happen if a werewolf got hit with a bullet?”

 

            “ _Really, Stiles?”_ she snorted. “ _You’re the one that made me sit through a dozen of those awful movies._ ”

 

            “Not a Muggle werewolf,” Stiles said impatiently. “A real one.”

 

            “ _It depends_ ,” she rolled her glossy eyes, eerily pupil-less. “ _If it wasn’t a full moon and they weren’t taking the Wolfsbane Potion they’d die just like anyone else. If they_ were _taking the potion they might die a little less. If it was the full moon then you probably just pissed it off a lot.”_

           “Let’s say it was Derek,” Stiles felt the edges of the bronze dug into his knuckles. “And, the bullet was laced with wolfsbane, but not Wolfsbane _potion_.”

 

            “ _Well that…_ ” she paused as she thought. “ _That wouldn’t be good_. _Wolfsbane Potion is called that because it uses real wolfsbane to weaken the wolf side enough for the human side to take over. But the reason most people don’t brew it themselves is because if you use too much you can kill the wolf, and you can’t kill one side of a werewolf without killing the other. That’s why the potion blended with healing spells too, not just to help heal the transformation but to try and keep the human host alive. If a werewolf taking the Wolfsbane potion got shot with wolfsbane I’d imagine, if it wasn’t too much, it would just get absorbed into the healing aspect. Again, if it wasn’t too much,”_ she repeated, looking at Stiles hard.

 

“Not a lot,” Stiles confirmed. “Maybe, a thimbleful _.”_

She tapped her chin thoughtfully. “ _Probably, then, a werewolf taking the potion would be alright. But with what Derek’s taking, I wasn’t trying to_ weaken _the thing, I was trying to bond them together. I didn’t put any of the anti-wolfsbane herbs into it because there’s no wolfsbane to begin with.”_

“So a wolfsbane bullet—“

 

            “— _would definitely kill him_ ,” she said grimly. “ _I did shove as many Quick Healing spells and pain numbing charms as I could so it might hold off just outright dying for a bit but nothing that would provide any kind of protection against wolfsbane,”_ Lydia’s eyes were flicking as if she was reading something Stiles couldn’t see. _“If you can burn it out then his body should heal. Eventually. As long as it hasn’t poisoned his blood yet.”_

 “ _Burn_ it out?” Stiles felt sick. “Just, like, drop a match on him?”

 

            “ _Dear Merlin, no!_ ” she snapped. “ _That wouldn’t do anything! You’d just cauterize the wolfsbane into his body and make it worse. No, you have to find the exact same kind of plant and light that up before it goes anywhere near him. Throw that in while it’s still burning—wolfsbane will bond to itself more than anything else. The part that is killing him will be attracted by the burned plant and it will all burn up together.”_

“And then he’ll get better.” Stiles didn’t try to make it a question.

 

            “ _Well, I didn’t include shooting Derek with wolfsbane bullets as part of my research._ ” Her tone was sarcastic but Lydia looked almost unsure, something Stiles rarely saw her be. She must have seen his troubled look because she added more seriously, “ _Swallowing wolfsbane charcoal is the antidote for Wolfsbane Potion overdoses. It happens a lot actually.”_

Stiles made a face—he had smelled the brewing dungeons at the Ministry. The potion was noxious and foul smelling. “I can’t imagine someone swallowing more of that nasty stuff than they needed to.”

 

“ _The overdoses aren’t accidental.”_

 

            It took Stiles another second to understand, and then he had to swallow a hard lump in his throat. Jackson was coming back. “Thanks, Lydia.”

 

            _“Wait—“_

            Jackson grabbed the mirror. He gave an even more shortened explanation than Stiles had but Lydia agreed to look around the castle quickly for the two girls. Stiles suspected it was a couple thing they made it so they had to believe each other instantly but he didn’t feel jealous this time. Before, watching Lydia and Jackson almost seem to communicate telepathically with nothing more than a few quirked eyebrows would be enough to send him in a bad mood for a few hours. Now he was just happy it got things rolling faster.

 

            Before what, exactly, his subconscious brought up but Stiles couldn’t really answer.

 

            Jackson was tucking the mirror away and he held out an arm for Stiles. With almost inhuman ease, he pulled Stiles to his feet. “Barnes and Singh are going to watch—“ his eyes drifted to the lump. The plant let out an unnerving gastric rumble. “They’re going to watch Kate Argent. Let’s go find the others.”

 

The wire fence seemed triple the distance but he pushed on, hoping like hell he was going in the right direction.As they got closer the lighting spells the Aurors were using dimmed then faded. Stiles was sad to feel the charms in the blanket also flickered out as they walked through the Anti-Magic wards.

 

            It was hard to track his steps. He had bombed Magical Creatures when he had been a student and his tracking skills were 'lower than a Flobberworm's gout', as his professor at the time had commented on his evaluation. He could feel the Aurors shifting in frustration as he slowly turned in a circle trying to see if any of the bushes seemed like the ones he had bled on. He supposed he should just be grateful that Jackson was giving him the benefit of the doubt but it felt like there was a timer ticking in the back of his brain. He couldn’t help but remember Lydia’s warning about the wolfsbane poisoning Derek’s blood.

 

            “Stilinski--” Jackson's patience seemed to have run its course when there was a loud, exasperated sigh. The entire team spun, useless wands out and ready. Boyd took a step away from the tree into the dim light, his eyebrows raised as if he couldn't believe Stiles had brought this annoyance down on him.

 

            Jackson's eye narrowed. “Vernon Boyd.”

 

            “Good memory,” Boyd sounded impressed.

 

            “I try,” Jackson said, unmoving.

 

            “I'm so glad you two have those happy times to commensurate over,” Stiles burst. “Really touching, bonding material here over. Brother for life, truth bros. _Where the hell is Derek?”_

 

Boyd let his gaze shift to Stiles, his face finally looking slightly worried. That comforted Stiles a little. If he was worried that meant there was still someone to worry about. “You should come and look for yourself.”

 

            Peter was nowhere to be seen. Stiles assumed that if he was something to worry about Boyd would have mentioned it. Instead, the man silently led them down the hill to a short, sweet smelling plant. The cinnamon scent was familiar but Stiles was only concerned with the body lying silent and still tucked into its leaves.

 

            “I told you to keep pressure,” Stiles pushed past the Aurors and dropped so he could check Derek’s pulse. The skin under his hand was clammy and the pulse was thready and slow. Stiles still had the blanket Jackson had given him and he didn’t hesitate to throw it over Derek. He was so intent on tucking it close to Derek’s body that he almost missed Derek’s eyes slowly opening to stare at him.

 

            “Don’t be stupid,” Stiles said briskly. “This is going to hurt. It’ll be better if you’re unconscious.”

 

            Stiles had thought Gryffindors were supposed to be the stubborn ones. Derek’s eye were unfocused but he knocked the blanket aside as he reached for Stiles. Stiles felt his heart skip, a confusing mix of worry, fear and something that made his gut twist. He grabbed Derek’s hand and laced their fingers together.

 

            Boyd crouched beside him and put the back of his hand on Derek’s forehead. “He kept insisting I move him to here. When I did the bleeding slowed but he’s still going into shock.”

 

            Stiles could feel Derek’s pulse still cold and weak against his palm. “I need that gun Kate dropped. And some matches or something.”

 

            Boyd brought him the gun easily enough and Stiles was relieved the other shell was still loaded. He seemed at a loss for matches however and the anti-magic wards meant their wands didn’t produce more than a weak spark. The air sounded like it was raddling out of Derek’s chest every time he breathed and Stiles was terrified that as going to be the last sound the man ever made.

 

            One of the Aurors, a short, dark brown woman who Stiles recognized vaguely as a Ravenclaw that had been a few years ahead of him, reached into her robes. With an almost guilty expression, she passed Stiles a cheap Muggle lighter. “For when I’m at home,” she explained, embarrassed. “Don’t tell my mum. She thinks I quit.”

 

              Stiles would have taken a Secret Keeper oath if she asked him. He opened the shell. The rest of the wolfsbane looked innocent enough when it wasn’t trying to kill something. Derek’s nose twitched. Stiles felt a little green at the prospect of what he had to do.

 

            “I need to see the wound,” Stiles told Boyd. The man was frowning but he pulled back the jacket. Derek’s leather jacket was covering him as well and Boyd carefully pulled that off too. The bleeding had slowed, almost to a stop, but a lot of it had dried to the lining. When it pulled free, blood started to ooze again. Stiles hoped like hell it was the shadows that made the blood look so thick and black.

 

            He had to take his hand out of Derek’s to do the next bit. He let Derek’s lax fingers rest on his thigh as a substitute. Working carefully because it was too dark to see and he couldn’t afford to make any mistakes, he tilted the shell so the flames would catch the wolfsbane inside. The gunpowder made it light up quickly and before Stiles could think about it, he plunged the shell and its the burning contents directly over the gaping wound in Derek’s chest.

 

            Derek didn’t scream—an excruciating howl seemed to rip out of him. His body bucked under Stiles’s hands as he threw the shell away and pressed down hard with both hands to make sure not a scrap of the burning wolfsbane missed its target. Derek was strong but fortunately his injuries had weakened him. Only human fingers dug painfully into Stiles’s leg as he struggled to get away from the agony.

 

            “What the hell did you do?” Jackson grabbed at Stiles’s shoulders but Stiles refused to give up.

 

            “Grab his shoulders!” he said instead as Derek squirmed, whimpering and struggling to escape. He felt as weak as a kitten but Stiles was worried that would chance as the poison burned clear and the healing spells took over. Boyd, thankfully, seemed to trust him  and grabbed Derek’s flailing legs. With a frustrated curse, Jackson pinned his shoulders.

 

            Though Stiles was throwing his whole weight on the wound, black sludge oozed from under his hands. When he looked at Derek’s face, his eyes had gone dark, black veins bulging on his neck as face as he gurgled painful sounds. More of the black stuff was coming out of his mouth and nose. Stiles had a frightening thought he was going to choke. Before he could suggest they roll Derek on his side, the man stiffened as hard as a stone, his body seizing and bowing off the ground. Whatever Stiles had thought about him being weakened vanished as his limbs seemed to convulse. Boyd lost his grip as Derek nailed him in the face; Jackson as well fell back cradling his nose.

 

            Finally, Stiles too was thrown to the side by a stray arm. The woman who had given him her lighter caught him but Stiles was already fighting to get back. Derek had rolled to his side, making sounds that were more animal than human as he held his side, whimpering and growling. Boyd and Jackson had scrambled back to the relatively safe distance of the group and the Auror held Stiles’s arms fast.

 

             The black in Derek’s eyes had given way to the icy blue of Kate’s. His face was that same mutated half shift Stiles had seen before and Kate had sported. It wasn’t as ferocious as all the pictures in the textbooks Stiles had seen which is probably why the Aurors hesitated. The black veins were still pulsing over his face and along any skin they could see but they weren’t as sharp as before.

 

            “It’s not the full moon,” the Auror holding him said in a flat voice. Stiles was grateful that Auror training usually beat panicked reactions from their ranks.

 

            “We can’t use our containment spells,” the other Auror, a man with a heavy Irish accent said. “Where’s the gun?”

 

            “Hey!” Stiles had been relaxing in his captor’s grip so she had loosened her hands. Now he managed to slip free and turned, spreading his arms wide as he glared at the group. “He’s already been shot once tonight. And trust me when I say what just happened is going to need a pretty goddamn strong Occlumancy to help get rid of my nightmares. I’m not doing it again.”

 

            “Stiles, get back here,” Jackson hissed but he didn’t want to move closer. Stiles could hear Derek shuffling behind him and when he glanced back the werewolf had managed to climb swaying to his feet. There were dark stains on his fangs, his lips were drawn back enough to show that his gums were pitched with black too. The Muggle shirt and jeans he had been wearing were straining at their seams but they didn’t break against the enlarged muscles. His claws were the size of a decent steak knife and Stiles had to tear his eyes away from them before he lost his nerve. Instead, he looked at Derek’s face again, bypassing his fangs and hoping like hell there would be a shred of humanity in his eyes like before.

 

            For a moment, Stiles thought he had made a terrible mistake. The werewolf was looking at him intently but there didn’t seem to be any recognition. It’s eyes were still clouded with pain and it seemed pretty pissed off as it sniffed the air, as if trying to decide which delicious target it wanted to hit up first.

 

             Well, I did put myself right in his path, Stiles thought as he felt his knees shake. If Derek ate him then he really had no one to blame but himself. He heard the Aurors and Boyd behind him whispering furiously, probably about the empty gun that was between them and Stiles. He knew for a fact none of them had handled a weapon like that, Half-Muggles aside, and he was pretty sure none of them would even realized it wasn’t loaded. Derek growled and their whispered stopped.

 

             Bracing itself like it was worried it would fall over, the werewolf stretched forward, teeth razor sharp and smelling like rotten meat as it paused inches from Stiles’s face. Cold sweat dripped down his back as he held still. Delicately, the werewolf sniffed again, the breeze making Stiles’s eyelashes flutter and his shirt collar resettle.

 

             “Stiles—“ Jackson started but the werewolf growled warningly over Stiles’s shoulder. It sniffed again, this time less curious and more reassuring as it stumbled forward half a step. Stiles braced as Derek’s leaned his face close to Stiles’s neck, wishing it wouldn’t end like this and hoping someone at least broke the news gentle to his father.

 

             However, instead of biting pain followed by a swift and painful death, Derek sighed against the skin. No teeth, just the prickle of facial hair as he rubbed his jaw along the underside of Stiles’s. Carefully, Stiles lifted his arms to catch Derek’s elbows as the werewolf slumped against him, forcing him to take some of his weight.

 

             “Derek,” he tried, his mouth unfathomably dry so the words cracked. He cleared his throat and tried the name again but Derek didn’t react to it.

 

             “Give him a minute,” Boyd’s voice was low and reassuring. Derek didn’t flinch at it like he had Jackson’s. Stiles would give him all the minutes he needed as long as he kept from ripping out his throat. Second ticked by though they felt like hours. Slowly, Derek pulled back, his humanity filling up in his body like water into a balloon. He shrank, his werewolf form was several inches taller than he was usually, but he didn’t seem to get any lighter as he sagged more into Stiles’s arms.

 

             “What—“ he managed to pull back, his face totally human again and his eyes confused and still crinkled at the side with pain. “What happened?”

 

             Stiles couldn’t help but laugh, the draining fear making him giddy. He pulled Derek tight, forcing the man to rest more of his weight on him even though he was sure he was at his own breaking point. He ran a hand over the back of Derek’s head, forcing him to rest his human mouth where his werewolf one had been on his neck, the other roaming over his ribs to where the gaping wound had shrunk to a knot of a scab.

 

             Derek didn’t seem to want to pull away either as he let his grip tighten, confused but seemed to accept Stiles’s need for reassurance.

 

             “Stilinski,” this time Jackson didn’t sound angry. He said Stiles’s name like he was impressed, something Stiles had never heard from him in his life. “Merlin’s great fucking beard, if you ever do that again—“

 

             Stiles didn’t hear the rest of it, his knees finally did give out and it took Jackson, Boyd and his Auror to catch them before they hit the ground. Derek let him go, though reluctantly.

 

             “Thanks,” Stiles patted Jackson’s forearm where it was wrapped around his shoulder. “But this is the part where I puke everywhere.”


	19. Pep Up

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm on a roll? I'm sorry, guy. This story is nearly wrapping up, I swear. I thought it was going in one direction but it got away from me then suddenly it looped back to exactly where I wanted it to be. wtf indeed. I really, really, want to write the end so all the words are just splatting out of me. I apologise for the mistakes and typos. I'll go through one day and correct them. I hope it's not too distracting.

Stiles had been exaggerating, mostly. He did manage to make sure he hit almost no one when he vomited, Jackson’s shoes and some moss being the exception. Surprisingly, Jackson bore it with no complaint and even gave Stiles a flask with pumpkin juice to swish his mouth out. 

 

Boyd was giving Derek a thorough inspection. He had forced him to lift his shirt despite the cold, poking and prodding the wound which looked at least a few months healed now and ignored the way Derek was wincing. Stiles had to scold his libido; his breath was rank with vomit and less than ten minutes ago Derek had been bleeding black ooze from his eyes. He couldn’t think of a more inappropriate time to admire Derek’s sculpted torso. 

 

When Derek let his shirt drop again, Stiles frowned. The material was clean and there was no evidence of a hole or blood. Boyd poked at the shirt too because Derek had finally reached the end of his patience and smacked his hand away. 

 

“They’re from Deaton,” he grumbled and grabbed the leather jacket. Like the other clothes, it looked pristine now.

 

“Clothes of Necessity,” the Auror with the accent nodded. “Dead useful stuff. Pity it didn’t save you from that gun.”

 

“It’s the runes,” Jackson said sourly. “They’re weakening everything.”

 

“Except, apparently, cleaning spells,” Stiles’s fingers twitched to touch the material. He didn’t even try to tell himself they also wanted to touch what was underneath.

 

The Aurors tried out more Scurgifying spells, blasting grim from themselves and the others. They did seem to work better than any other light or fire spells they charms. Stiles supposed it was because they had less work to do. Stiles was eager to get all the blood off his skin and the spell could work with that easily. They even managed a breath freshening spell but it didn’t have the same minty kickback as usual. The blanket and Stiles’s clothes didn’t fare so well, they were still splattered and stained until they could either get out of the runes or find a stream to wash them the Muggle way. Stiles grimaced when he saw how much of the poisoned black sludge the blanket had acquired. It stank like death too and even though it was still cold Stiles was reluctant to use it. 

 

“Here,” Derek thrust the leather jacket at him. His face was hard but his eyes had a softer edge to them. Stiles took the jacket and slipped it on.

 

Jackson sent the two Aurors back the way they had come to report to the two they had left behind. They were to contact the Ministry and the castle to see if anyone had found Malia or Kira. He also told them to destroy as many runes as they could on the way, glaring at his wand. It let out a fountain of weak sparks but it was clearly not the spell he had intended on. 

 

Stiles was just grateful anti-magic spells didn’t affect plants that were inherently magic, like the cinnamon-smelling healing bush that had staunched Derek’s bleeding, or the werewolf part of Derek that had kept him alive. His office was like that too. He and Malia usually had sex in his room or Malia’s, though all the dead animals freaked him out, but they had spent a lot of time in his office too watching movies or playing video games. Some of that time she liked to just curl up as a coyote and shed hair on everything.

 

As Stiles thought of Malia a pang of worry grew in his stomach. He hoped that they had just been delayed. Derek had said she would be fine and Stiles knew she was the toughest person he knew but he had already gone through thinking she was dead once. He didn’t want to have to go through it again, at least not until they were both at least 130.

 

Jackson insisted Boyd show him the Orphan’s camp before joining them. He had suggested Stiles and Derek go with the two Aurors but for all Derek seemed be in one piece Stiles found himself needing a moment to let the shakes stop. Jackson told them to sit the hell down and not to move an inch until he and Boyd got back. Stiles saluted him and made sure to load his shotgun with non magicked bullets this time.

 

The sweet smelling bush was as good a backrest as it had been before. With Derek’s jacket and Derek himself close enough to his side they brushed shoulders every time they moved, it was also not so cold any more. Derek had said he couldn’t smell Peter nearby, or anyone else for that matter, but Stiles had had enough of the Forest sneaking up on him tonight.

 

“Thank you,” Stiles said as the silence stretched out between them. “I think Kate was aiming for me.”

 

Derek didn’t correct him. Though she hadn’t been remorseful about shooting Derek she had probably not meant to hit him, if Peter’s word s could be believed. “It’s fine,” he replied finally. Stiles sat cross-legged, the gun in his lap ready to be pulled up at any moment. Derek had his feet flat on the ground, propping his elbows on his knees as he twirled one of the bush’s leaves in his hands. Stiles couldn’t stop glancing over, making sure the ashen tone to his face was gone and that there were no more black veins webbed across his face. 

 

On one such pass, he caught Derek looking at him with the same appraising glance. They both looked away embarrassed. 

 

“Does that hurt?” Derek pointed at Stiles’s scratched and bleeding hands. He had torn away at his nails when he had climbed out of the pit and his palms were badly skinned from tripping.

 

“Only if I think about it. Or move them. Or, you know, breathe,” Stiles said bitterly as he held one of his hands in front of his face and examined it. He was actually looking forward to an infirmary stay. At least he wouldn’t be running from anything but a few bitter tasting potions in there.

 

Derek took his hand and pulled it in front of his own face. His skin was overly warm and Stiles felt something fizzy in his stomach. Derek squinted at it, concentrating. There was a jolt, like something had reached miniature hooks inside Stiles’s skin. It prickled but it didn’t hurt and to Stiles’s amazement they started to tug the aches and pains from them, and from everywhere else in his body. It felt like they were being sucked out leaving nothing but a pleasant buzz in its place. 

 

Stiles was caught up in the magic until he saw the black veins faint but still there under Derek’s skin. He yanked his hand free and was relieved to see the black veins fade.

 

“How the hell were you doing that?” Stiles demanded as he looked at his hand. The cuts were still there but they didn’t hurt.

 

“I don’t know,” Derek shrugged. He tilted his head to the side, stretching his neck back and forth like he was trying to rid himself of a backache. “When we found Malia she was really hurt. I could sense her pain before we saw her. I think maybe there’s something in those pills that Lydia gave me that seek out pain to heal it. Well, not heal I guess,” Derek said ruefully when he saw Stiles’s hands were unchanged.

 

“Hm,” Stiles said and flexed his fingers. “As a side effect, it's a pretty useful one. Thanks.”

 

“I should be the one thanking you,” Derek met his eyes steadily. Stiles flushed and looked away. “How did you know what to do?”

 

Stiles quickly explained his conversation with Lydia, about the wolfsbane and how it had worked. Derek nodded gravely, accepting the information like it was more important than any NEWT seminar Stiles had ever sat through. He supposed it was, Stiles realized, because this was something Derek had to know. It was more than an interesting fact; it was something that could save his life again one day. 

 

“I’m sure she’ll be glad to have a nice footnote,” Derek said dryly when Stiles finished. “But I’m not going to replicate this experiment, no matter how many safety measures she puts in place.”

 

Stiles scowled as he thought about her suggesting it.  He knew s he  mostly be joking it if came up but  Ravenclaws could be worse than Slytherins when it came to the face of academic advancement. If Derek thought it would seriously help someone in need-- well, Hufflepuffs weren't the best when it came to saying no. “Don’t worry. I can handle pushy Ravenclaws.” Derek was still watching him and Stiles shifted uncomfortably. “What?”

 

“Nothing,” Derek looked away but the tops of his cheeks were pink. It looked a lot better than grey, Stiles couldn’t help but note. “It’s just… I never thought about Slytherins as being so… loyal.”

 

Derek said it with reluctance so Stiles wasn’t offended. It wasn’t something Stiles had never heard before. “I am to the people I like,” he said and nudged Derek’s leg with his elbow. “Scott, Malia, Lydia. Even Jackson I guess, as long as he doesn’t piss me off too much.”

 

Derek raised his eyebrows. “He arrested you. He thought you killed Professor Tate. He was going to throw you in Azakaban.”

 

“Yeah, well,” Stiles shrugged.  He remembered how betrayed Jackson had looked in that cell, how much he truly wanted to believe Stiles was innocent. It hadn't his fault his skull was as hard as a double-tusked stone oxen.  “He’d  only do it if he really had to . And, I mean, what’s loyalty if it’s not tested a few times?”

 

Stiles was definitely grateful the Scurgify charm had worked. When Derek kissed him, the memory of fangs and blood was dashed away. He tasted clean, like himself, like Stiles remembered when they had made out in his office. There had been a sweetness there under the taste of the Muggle beer and it was in full force now. 

 

The residual shaking in his hands and knees faded to the back of his mind. His heart was pumping but instead of fear the adrenaline felt nice. It was nice have his body react to something that wasn’ t terrifying.  H e followed Derek’s mouth when he pulled back slowly. 

 

“Sorry,” Derek muttered as he settled back. “You can’t talk about loyalty to a Hufflepuff like that, you know.”

 

Stiles sucked on his own lip and imaged he could still taste Derek on it. He met Derek’s wide eyes squarely. “You can’t just go about taking what you want without making a Slytherin all hot and bothered either.” Stiles quirked an eyebrow. Derek’s eyes flicked down to his mouth, his eyes still wide but hungry and Stiles leaned forward. 

 

***

 

Stiles kissed like he spoke; determined, confident and bantering. Derek was more than willing to respond. He was out of practice but the easy playful way Stiles tilted his chin to show him what he wanted made Derek more than eager to give it. He started out carefully but as he realised Derek was more than able to keep up he grew bolder. Derek's neck was getting strained so he shifted; Stiles shifted more. He didn't know how they managed it without separating but Stiles some how managed to slip a knee under Derek's, hovering over him a little as he tilted Derek's head back. That was an interesting angle that Derek decided he quite liked.

 

Something hard poke him in the ribs, right where he could feel the gunshot wound still knitting together. Stiles swore and leaned back, staring at the rifle in his hands with confusion then not a little bit of horror.

 

“Jesus Christ,” Stiles muttered, his voice a touch shaky as he set it a safe distance away. “Sorry. That's pretty much the last thing you need, huh?”

 

Derek didn't answer. If Stiles had shot him right then it would have been worth it. He would have healed, after all, though it would have probably ruined the kissing. Derek didn't want that to happen now either so he just guided Stiles's face back to his.

 

He didn't mean to be so demanding but Stiles seemed to enjoy it. The kiss turned from nice to heated as Stiles used the height advantage to sweep his tongue along Derek's, one hand bracing himself on the ground the other lightly stroking a thumb over his ear. It felt as intimate as a stroke over his stomach. Derek's felt his heart rate pick up. As he had lain there, under this bush bleeding and feeling like he was burning from the inside, he had thought he was going to die.

 

He had been glad Stiles had left him and Boyd. The last thing he wanted was for the other man's last memory of Derek to be of him dying. But when Stiles had come back and held his hand. he had thought it had been a hallucination his dying mind had made to try to comfort him. He knew as well as any kid all the stories about Death and the companions that brought people over to the Great Beyond. He should have been surprised it hadn't been his parents or Laura there to guide him but he realised now that in the end he didn't want face them, at least not until he had settled things with Kate. He had been relieved it had been Stiles, even if it had only been a hallucination because he wanted to spend every minute he could with the complicated, unreadable, aggravating man. Even if he only had a few last seconds he wanted Stiles in all of them. It was selfish to want someone he liked so much to be there to watch him in such pain but he hadn't cared in that moment.

 

His blood was thumping, alive and burning with it. He had wasted enough time worrying about whether or not being with Stiles was the right thing, if saddling him with the burden of being with a werewolf was hurting him in some way. He was alive, Stiles was here, and he didn't want to have to be grateful for only a few seconds before his life ended.

 

“Oh, come on,” Jackson stomped on the ground and Stiles  leapt back like a deer, tripping and falling over his feet on the landing . “ We were barely gone for ten minutes.”

 

“When the hell did you get so good at sneaking?” Stiles said scornfully as he got his limbs under control  and stood . 

 

“Around the time you decided making out with your boyfriend was more important than keeping track of your surroundings,” Jackson thumped him on the back of the head. 

 

Stiles scowled as he grabbed his rifle. Hesitantly, he looked down at where Derek was still propped on his hands, trying to get his breath under control. Stiles reached out a hand and Derek took it. It was warm, a contrast to how cold his hands had been before. It was because his heart was beating so fast, Derek realised,  noting his flushed face as well . Derek found himself reluctant let go when he was on his feet.  Stiles gave him a smirk  a s if  he  could read his mind

 

“Did you find what you were looking for?” Stiles directed the question to Boyd instead of Jackson who was already starting eagerly in the direction away from the camp. They followed him, keeping up to his brisk pace. 

 

“What he wanted to look for,” Boyd jerked a thumb at Jackson. “And yeah. But there's nothing they can do about the weapons until all the runes are down. That's going to be a job and a half.”  He grimaced than added, “We found what was left of Garrett too so at least we don't have to worry about him.”

 

Despite Derek's pain trick, the fast pace was clearly still hard on Stiles. Derek didn't feel so great himself but at least, as they followed the path of rune destruction the other Aurors had left, he could feel the moon like a healing balm. Derek kept close to his side just in case but Boyd drew him to the side.

 

“I'm sorry,” was all the big man said and Derek blinked in surprise.

 

“Why are you sorry?”

 

“I didn't think I had to spell it out,” he muttered. “Peter, getting you shot, not bringing you to that _densa_ bush myself—”

 

Derek was already shaking his head. “Your job wasn't to watch out for me. I was the one who left Braedon behind. If she's going to kick anyone's ass it's going to be mine.”

 

Boyd gave him a look that clearly stated how much the man thought Derek didn't understand Braedon at all. “Either way, I didn't catch what Peter was doing and he's the one that caused all of this. If I had--”

 

But Derek was looking over to where Stiles was still trying to catch glimpses at him from the corner of his eye. Stiles waved cheerily when Boyd followed the turn of Derek's head. He rolled his eyes hard. “Getting laid by Stilinski isn't something you have to nearly die for to do,” Boyd sighed. “Erica told me he slept with half of her House after he spent a night in the Forbidden Forest.”

 

The warm feeling in his stomach turned cold. He narrowed his eyes and looked at Boyd, all the thoughts he had of defending the man against Braedon retreating as Boyd met his glare with mild shock. “He's not like that anymore.”

 

Boyd threw up his hands slightly and ducked his chin. “Fine, fine, you know the guy better than me. But he's a Slytherin on top of a Stilinski. He can't help it. When he was trying to slip his way past Peter and Kate he looked willing to do _anything.”_ Boyd stressed the last word, watching Derek carefully. _“_ Even if he seems like he's changed since Erica knew him it doesn't mean the old part of him is still there.”

 

Derek tried to block the words from settling in his mind but it was too late. Hadn't he smelled Peter on Stiles once? He glanced over at the younger man. Stiles had gotten distracted by the fast clip and was putting his energy into keeping up rather than trying to eavesdrop. His face was unguarded right now, pale from exhaustion with hollow circles under his eyes. Derek could smell pain starting to radiate from him again. He knew Stiles had asked him to his office the first time because he found Derek attractive. That was fine; Derek found him the same. But he had followed Derek out of the dungeon without too much protest, he didn't flinch when Derek transformed, he had run like live bait to draw Kate away instead of sneaking away like he could have. He had kissed Derek like he had meant it but--

 

Stiles must have felt him watching because he glanced over, curiosity dropping over his face.

 

“Just be careful,” Boyd said and then jogged forward a few strides to catch up with Jackson.

 

“Here,” Derek slipped his hand over Stiles's collar. It was easier this time to pull the pain from him. It stung as it drew into his fingers but it faded before it reached past this wrist. Stiles twisted to pull his hand off and looked at the black veins threaded there. They faded a few seconds later.

 

“Does it hurt when you do that?”

 

“A little,” Derek admitted. “But not for long.”

 

“Well, don't then,” Stiles let go of his hand and gave him a stern look. “Those veins look creepy.”

 

Derek was a little affronted by that-- wasn't he helping? He had never been able to use his werewolf powers to help before. But Stiles didn't notice as he shouted a warning before Jackson and Boyd tripped over the metal wire.

 

 

***

 

The Aurors were weren't far. There were only three of them now. They had managed to extract Kate's body from the plant and Stiles was relieved when they said they had Portkeyed it to the Ministry. More disturbing was the news that the Aurors had spoken with Lydia and the Headmaster. Kira and Malia were still missing.

 

Stiles wished he had his phone. Heather had made a magical GPS app on it for their short projects in first term. Though the phone itself didn't work in the castle any magical apps she made did and he had always been able to find the car no matter where it wandered. Jackson looked disturbed but he insisted on getting Stiles and Derek to a safe place first.

 

“We have to question you,” he looked too gleeful at the word. Stiles suspected the questioning would be more like watching Jackson imitate an angry frog as he leapt around and yelled at Stiles for his stupidity until his heart's content. It would be funny to watch, in any case, and he would probably let Stiles drink a vat of hot chocolate while he did it. Still, Stiles wasn't going to be able to relax until the nagging feeling in his stomach went away.

 

“But Kira and Malia--”

 

“I can help track them,” Derek offered. One of the Aurors who had stayed with Kate raised her eyebrow suspiciously. Derek tapped his nose, irritated. “I've got both their scents, in both their human forms and, uh, not.”

 

It was better than nothing, Stiles decided. He knew he would probably get in the way anyway. He didn't even have his wand and his whole body was half a step away from just taking another nap on the Forest floor. He gave Derek a grateful look but the man just nodded awkwardly.

 

They couldn't Apperate to Hogwarts but the Three Broomsticks would serve as a decent enough secure place for now. Even though Derek's wand was still in the pocket of his jacket, Jackson insisted on doing a Side-Along for them ad Boyd. Stiles understood the logic. After all he was still technically under arrest and Jackson would look really stupid if Derek or Boyd just disappeared before he could get their statement. Personally, Stiles was relieved. Even if he had his wands he was so tired he would definitely leave something important behind.

 

The Muggle-born Auror took his elbow and Stiles felt a familiar tug somewhere near his navel. She was good. He barely wobbled as they reappeared outside the door to the pub.

 

“Butterbeer's on you,” Stiles reminded Jackson as the head Auror pushed the door open. It was past last call in the pub so Stiles wasn't surprised to see the waitress pushing a dishcloth over a table, looking annoyed as they came in. Strangely, she looked like she was expecting them.

 

“That one's been waiting for you,” she jerked her thumb to a table in the corner. “And you'd best not order anything now. I've already got all the cleaning spells in place.”

 

“Don't worry, ma'am,” Jackson said his annoyance still seething through the polite words.

 

The waitress just rolled her eyes and flounced back into the kitchen. Stiles turned and saw Allison already rising from her seat and moving anxiously towards them. Stiles's body whined in protest as fear pricked once again over his skin. He had once seen Allison coolly splint her wrist with an extra guard and then go on to take out two Chasers and the Seeker to win the Quidditch Cup for Gryffindor in seventh year. It took a lot to make her look this worried.

 

“I came looking for you an hour ago,” Allison sounded cross and she was wringing her hands. “Scott's missing.”

 

Jackson's face was tired too and Stiles could see his shoulders slump. “What are you talking about?”

 

“There was this fox,” Allison said quickly. “She was barking at our door. Stiles, you remember her right?” Stiles nodded, his heart sinking. “Scott went out to catch her but that was at least two hours ago. I came to get you guys but you weren't here,” she glared at the rest of the Aurors like it was their fault they had been shirking their duties instead of chasing down an escaped murder suspect.

 

“We'll go look now,” Jackson reassured her, his shoulder straightening again as he seemed to shrug on his Auror leadership like a cloak. “Singh, Barnes, take Stilinski back to the castle. _Sit on him_ if he tries to move. Lee, get back to the Ministry. I want them on the Orphan's camp yesterday. Take someone who knows what the hell Muggle things are.” The Auror that had brought Stiles nodded and turned to leave. Jackson looked hesitantly at Derek and Boyd. “If you're up for it—”

 

“I need something that smells like him,” was all Derek said. Allison had brought a sweater of his, she had thought the Aurors might need it for their tracking spells.

 

“I have to report in first,” Boyd looked depressed at the prospect and excused himself outside of the pub again.

 

Jackson ordered Allison back to the clinic in case Scott had come back. Normally mild mannered and friendly, Stiles didn't like the dismissive way she agreed with Jackson and left. He had a feeling the search party was going to have flyover help. At least she had been smart enough to wait for them before she went out by herself alone but Allison had always been the sensible one. Stiles felt vaguely guilty that he was leaving when everyone else was just refueling with Pep Up pastries and potions  hidden in their robes before they went back out but he was looking forward to the comfortable beds in the infirmary.

 

Derek and Jackson left after Allison. Boyd, finished his bobcat Patronus to send to the castle, went with them. Singh and Barnes were gruff but as eager as Stiles to be somewhere warm and safe. They used the same key Jackson had to open the door of the shop to the tunnel that led back to Hogwarts. Stiles didn't even care about the dusty or cramped walls, he was just grateful to be moving. About ten minutes into the tunnel, Singh stopped suddenly. Stiles walked into the back of the man's heels. They only had the two wands between the three of them and they could only light a few feet either way.

 

“What?” Barnes said sharply behind Stiles. Singh turned around looking frustrated.

 

“There must have been a cave in. It's blocked.”

 

Stiles looked nervously at the walls as if they might collapse as well. Barnes sighed. “I guess we have to take the path by the Forest.”

 

“That's a stupid idea,” Stiles grumbled.

 

“Do you have a better one?” Singh almost snarled and prodded him lightly. Stiles didn't so they went back the way they came. Irritated at losing time, they headed down the well tended path outside. The path was spelled to protect the students, Stiles knew, and despite how nervous he always felt on it at night there was almost nothing that could actually harm them as long as they stayed on it. Singh and Barnes cast their own Patronuses, a duck and a Shetland pony that did more to light the way then a _lumos_ spell. Their silvery light was also more comforting, and Stiles pushed himself harder when they saw the top of the towers of the castle. They were more than halfway home, right when Stiles was starting to relax, when a howl pierced the night sky.

 

“Oh, fuck no,” Singh said flatly. His duck paused its waddle and clacked its beak in alarm. To Stiles's horror it started to flicker.

 

“Maybe it's Hale,” Barnes said. The howl did sound familiar. “Maybe that's his signal he found a scent or something.”

 

There was another howl, then a second one joined it. Neither sounded remotely like they were just a signal.

 

“Fuck, shit, Merlin's dung,” Singh cursed again and his duck faded. Hastily he cast it again.

 

“We have orders,” Barnes gestured to Stiles. Then, there was a crack like a gunshot.

 

Like teachers, all Aurors carried a charm around their necks. Both the Aurors pulled it out of their robes; it was turned a deep violet colour.

 

“We have to go,” Singh said angrily. “This supersedes that.”

 

“What do we do about him, then?” Barnes jerked a thumb at Stiles. Stiles kept his face blank.

 

Singh fixed Stiles with a hard glare. “Our Patronus will take you back to the castle. Find the Headmaster, sit your ass in the infirmary, and wait for us to get back. Merlin help you if I have to track you down again.”

 

“Scout's honor,” Stiles held up three fingers. Clearly Singh had no idea what that meant but he gave Stiles another hard look before he and Barnes Disapperated. Stiles uncrossed the fingers on his other hand behind his back.

 

Roscue honked apologetically as it rolled from where it had been following them on the path. Stiles glared at it when he saw it was empty. He had tasked the car with bringing Malia and Kira back and it had never failed him before. His gaze softened when he took in the damage. The windshield was cracked on the passenger side and both side mirrors had been swiped clean off. The front tire was flat and it moved awkwardly on the rim. A light had been smashed in, the front bumper was only attached on one side. However, most impressively was the missing driver's side door. It looked like something with paws the size of dish plates had completely taken off the door, leaving deep gouges in the roof and body of the car. Stiles ran his hands over the split metal sympathetically.

 

The duck honked reproachfully and the pony shook its mane with a huff. They weren't their creators though; they couldn't make Stiles do anything. He climbed in the driver's seat, trying to ignore the dark stains on both seats. There wasn't a lot of blood, which was good. Stiles's foot hit something by the pedals and glanced down. There was a leather bag there and he picked it up cautiously. It refused to open, some kind of locking spell on it, but he could feel something heavy and stone inside. He hung it from the rear view mirror to keep it from falling near his feet again and patted the steering wheel reassuringly.

 

“Come on, buddy,” he let the car limp along at its own pace. “We can at least be an ambulance or something.”

 


	20. You can't pick your family

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahhh! I swear, I had this finished earlier then I forgot this was suppose to include a MAJOR PLOT POINT, COME ON ALEX so I had to rewrite part of it. Technically, I meant to have this, the previous and the next few chapters all together but I figure you'd all rather get bits and pieces out earlier rather then one big update after a long wait. So, enjoy!

            It was hard to keep his pace slow enough for Boyd and Lydia’s fiancé to keep up. The sweater had been more than enough scent for Derek to find the Magical animal clinic. It took a few minutes to circle the stone fence and find the freshest trail but once he did the wolf was more than eager to push through the trees like they were barely there. His fur coat protected him from any sharp thrones and most dangerous plants so he had to remind himself to lead his human companions around anything that might try to poison them.

 

            He was grateful for Scott’s scent. Kira had almost no scent about her, just the heady smell of old stones that blended into the rest of the Forest. Even without it, though, the trail would have been easy enough. Scott had been in a hurry and Derek could see his path littered with broken twigs and heavy footprints. He hoped this guy could take care of himself in the Forest because any predator could easily follow him.

 

            Boyd and Jackson, to their credit, didn’t complain though that may have been because they were moving too fast to speak. The path was leading to places Derek knew from his midnight romps. There was a sweet tasting stream about a hundred paces to the left and he could smell berries and other grassy vegetation that would draw a lot of prey to this area. He ignored the wolf’s over-interest in anything tasty nearby. Human, he ordered it sternly. That’s what we’re tracking. The wolf’s mouth salivated and Derek had to hastily add human _friends_.

 

            The scent trail led from the undergrowth to a more worn game path. Derek could smell centaurs and a lone unicorn but those were days old. He paused and transformed back, crouching close to the ground to keep the scent in his nose while his companions caught up.

 

            “Are we close?” Jackson was wheezing. Boyd leaned forward, his hands on his thighs as he caught his breath.

 

            “Yes,” Derek answered tersely. He moved his head back and forth trying to concentrate. This was still new enough that he was having some trouble sorting through all the delicate differences. It didn’t help the wind was blowing the wrong way. “They were here about ten minutes ago, I think. Scott, Kira and… Peter?”

 

            The last name came out like a question so Derek too another deep breath to make sure. Yes, that was Peter and it was wrapped in another smell. It was something clinging on the path strongest here, which was the reason Derek had stopped. It tickled his nose like a feather and had an almost peppery bite. Was that what magic smelled like? He sneezed. There was something else, some other scent but he couldn’t place it. He turned to Jackson instead.

 

            “Peter must have Apperated here,’ he said, still sniffing.

 

            “Why would he Apperate so close to the school?” Jackson’s angry question didn’t seem to expect an answer. “He has to know we’re looking for him.”

 

            “Tate said it was a man who had grabbed her,” Derek remembered a comment she had made earlier. “She said he was trying to use her like a bargaining chip. If it was Peter maybe he was following her scent.”

 

            Jackson pulled his wand from his wrist sheath. Derek stood and move back with Boyd as blue mist started to curl around the edges of the trail, settling and preserving everything. “It doesn’t make sense,” Jackson said. His concentration on the spell didn’t break even though he was conversing normally. It was impressive but Derek supposed that they wouldn’t have made a mediocre wizard the head of an Auror squad at such a young age. “Tate and Yukimura should have reached the castle hours ago. If Peter was in the camp then he couldn’t Apperate in and out quickly. He had to have help.”

 

            “I didn’t see anyone else at the camp,” Boyd frowned.

 

            “You were tied to a chair,” Derek pointed out. Boyd gave him a frosty look.

 

            “See if you can smell anyone new,” Jackson rubbed his temple as if staving off a headache.

 

            Derek grumbled mentally about consultation fees and labour laws with the Aurors as he shifted back to paws.

 

Peter’s trail was stronger now, and fresh. It hadn’t been more than maybe ten minutes since he had passed along here. It was amazing the amount of information was there, if he had more practice. He could smell residues of the camp must be clinging to Peter’s robes: food cooked in steel pots, fur, that sharp smelling gasoline Muggles were found of, and gun powder too, now that he knew was it was. The gasoline and gun powder were bitter and sharp and blocked most of the other scents. Derek huffed through his nose trying to clear them out. He caught a faint whiff of that mysterious scent and the wolf shivered unsettlingly.

 

            Then, faintly, he caught another dose of that peppery magic and another human—old, male: wizard?

 

            There was a crash and a curse behind him. Derek snapped from his concentration and whirled to see what was the matter but he wasn’t fast enough. There was a spoken curse and then a sharp, tight pressure on his right front foreleg. Half a second later that pressure was cut through with agony and Derek couldn’t stop a raw howl from escaping. He jerked back instinctively, trying to yank himself free but the steel teeth of the trap only dug in deeper. He forced himself to stop moving, shaking with pain.

 

            The sound of wolfish laughter broke through the hazy pain and Derek turned sharply to look, yanking his caught paw again with a whimper.

 

            Peter’s wolf form was larger, a little bigger than Derek’s. While Derek was nearly pitch black, Peter’s fur was longer, more rangy, like the fur that normally covered them during their regular transformations. His face was strange too; his snout not as long as Derek’s and his red blazing eyes set human enough Derek could see a contemptuous slant to them. He sat like a wolf, his tail thin and rat-like curled around his massive paws but Derek could see there was something off with his joints. All these little oddities would have been dismissive on their own but all together it was clear to see that there was something not quite right about him.

 

            Derek flicked an ear back, listening for Boyd and Jackson but the Forest was silent. The wolf tried to move, the hurt making it fearful and restless, but the hard yank on the trap sent another bolt of pain through him. The wolf howled its frustration and Peter threw back his head to howl back. The tone was mocking instead of sympathetic and the wolf cut off, confused about why its pack mate wasn’t helping.

 

            “Oh, nephew.” Derek remembered at the last minute to keep his paw still as his skin prickled with surprise. Peter’s voice had lost the refined tone in this garbled form but it didn’t stop Derek’s fur from standing on edge with irritation. “That was almost too easy. I weep for the next generation.”

 

            Derek growled, he didn’t have the vocal cords necessary to reply and he didn’t look forward to the increased pain he would feel if he shifted back. Peter shifted his attention from Derek to the path behind. He stood up, his hind legs twisted backwards at the knees like a canine but something about his hips and spine must not have been wolf enough because he stood without any strain. Derek was just grateful the man hadn’t shifted completely out of his pants. He tried to make himself small on the ground as he curled around his throbbing leg.

 

            “I’m going to inform you again,” Jackson was practically spitting with rage as he was shoved along the path. “I’m an Auror here on official business. You’ve already won yourself about ten years in Azkaban. Let me go or I’ll make sure you find a cell so dark and dank there is at least one Dementor they forgot to expel.”

 

            His wrists were bound to Boyd’s with a thick leather strap. They had to walk awkwardly together and when the old man behind them shoved Jackson between the shoulders they nearly fell.

 

            Boyd was silent as he steadied both of them and took in the situation. If he was surprised by Peter’s grotesque form he didn’t say anything. Peter made sure to bare all his teeth at the two men and Derek’s snout curled into a silent snarl when he saw the flecks of blood along the gums. There was a whiff of a scent, the same as the one on the sweater he had been following. Someone had found McCall, Derek realized with a sinking feeling.

 

             Wolf eyes weren’t as strong as his human ones so it took Derek a minute to recognize the old man. Gerrard Argent snorted at Jackson’s words and flicked his wand. Jackson jaw clamped together with a painful snap. The Auror glared, furious, at the man but Gerrard had already moved his attention.

 

            “You two need to shut the hell up,” the man’s voice was rough and gravelly, like he had spent a life time displeased. He pulled something silver out of his robes and clicked it. Somewhere deep in the woods, a sound that was distressingly similar to a gunshot sounded. Derek couldn’t stop his flinch and the still healing hole in his ribs ached. “Unless you want every Auror in residence to Apparate on your neck.”

 

            “That’s exactly what I want,” Peter muttered under his breath. Gerrard ignored him and pulled a pendant from Jackson’s robes. It was glowing a deep purple and he dropped it satisfied. Then, he turned to take in Peter.

 

            “Merlin, that’s ugly,” he said with disgust. “When we made this agreement you said it was more like that one,” he pointed with his wand at Derek who flinched. The man smirked at Derek’s reaction.

 

            “It will be.” To Derek’s satisfaction, Peter sounded irritated. “Once we get the potion master from the castle she can fix this.”

 

            Jackson made a garbled sound but the Lock-Jaw Jinx kept him from speaking. His face was turning red from the effort and he took a step towards Gerrard, dragging Boyd after him. Gerrard flicked his wand lazily at them and more leather straps formed around their legs and shoulders. They fell to the ground with a thump and Gerrard turned back to fix Peter with an unimpressed look.

 

            “My daughter told me you brought results,” Gerrard didn’t sound pleased. “I don’t like dealing with your,” he frowned, “ _kind_ as it is. I don’t want to invest in something that is defective.”

 

            Derek saw Peter grind his teeth. Good, he thought. Watching Peter’s plans fall apart had always been an enjoyable pastime. Without his mother here it happened so rarely. “My kind will be your kind soon enough,” Peter said finally and then licked at the blood still on his teeth.

 

            Gerrard ignored Peter and moved to Derek. He crouched on the path, squinting as he inspected Derek like he was a dog at the pound. Derek observed the man right back. There was something sickly in the man’s smell, some kind of curse Derek decided after a moment. It smelled like something was rotting inside the man. The man shifted to scratch at his hand and Derek followed the movement without thinking. The skin along his hand was dark, scaly brown and when Gerrard scratched at it bits flaked to the ground. Derek realized suddenly that he knew exactly what this curse was.

 

            Before he had started the potions with Lydia he hadn’t had these heightened senses outside of the days he transformed. However, even a human nose could smell the distinctive rotting smell that came from a zombie bite. During the six months he had interned with the Ministry’s Department of Dark Creatures, a good chunk of that time had been spent chasing down reanimated corpses in northern Europe. It hadn’t been a job most new graduates steered clear of, which was by Derek supposed he had gotten it in the first place, but it had been a good distraction from everything that had happened over the course of his school life. When the internship had been over Derek had found it hard to look at daisies, which flourished surprisingly well in human flesh, in the same way.

 

He wondered when Gerrard had been bitten. Most people who were cursed could live out their natural lives now, as long as they kept up on their potions regimes and had regular Cleansing Charms, though it wasn’t comfortable. Someone like Gerrard could afford the best treatment available but from the way his skin was already flaking off Derek knew something wasn’t working.

 

             Gerrard noticed him staring and let his hands relax as he rested them on his knees. “You can smell it, can’t you,” he said to Derek, enunciating slowly like Derek was a very small child. Derek growled but if Gerrard was intimidated he didn’t show it. “Disgusting creatures, zombies. I’m sure you thought being cursed once a month was a burden. You should try feeling your body rotting away at its very core. As much as I hate contaminating myself even further, this,” he pointed at Derek. Derek lunged for his finger but the chain stopped him fast and his teeth clacked on empty air. “This is better.”

 

Derek growled and tried to ignore the fresh throbbing in his leg. It wasn’t an entirely stupid plan, he had to admit. The Lycanthrope Curse on its own wouldn’t a counter curse for a zombie bite. Derek had faced down one were-zombie during a harrowing full moon and he wasn’t eager to repeat the experience. Without the Wolfsbane potion, the transformations tore human bodies apart and Derek knew hundreds of years ago a good percentage of people didn’t survive the full moon just on that. With the Wolfsbane Potion’s accelerated healing, it may slow the curse a little but it wouldn’t be any different than the things Gerrard would regularly be getting for a zombie treatment. If those weren’t working then just the three days out of the month that the wolf came to the surface and made his entire body nearly invulnerable to most curses, Dark and otherwise, wouldn’t be much help.

 

But if Gerrard had heard about what Lydia was doing, her work on merging the two halves together then Derek could be how it would be a tempting risk.

 

So, no, it wasn’t entirely stupid, Derek thought grudgingly as he met the old man’s probing eyes. But Kate hadn’t been stupid either, had she? She had easily manipulated Derek in order to get rid of his mother to take her chances with a new Alpha werewolf agreeing to give her the Bite. It was just her bad luck that Laura had had the same morals.  

 

            “If you are done examining the goods we can get back to more important things,” Peter’s drawl was hampered by the mutated shape of his jaw.

 

Gerrard flicked his wand and the trap released from Derek’s leg. The suddenness of it almost hurt as much as it had when it clamped down but Derek ignored it. He lunged forward, aiming for Gerrard’s stupid smirk but it was like his nose hit a wall. Smell, which had been so interesting before, shot up his nose like a Filbuster Firework. It burned, making his eyes water so badly he felt blinded. He gagged, rolling around and pawing at his nose trying as he tried to scratch out whatever burned in there. He shoved his nose in the dirt, forcing the soothing, earthy scent around everything until he felt safe enough to lift his trembling head. Gerrard wagged a finger at him disapprovingly. “Now, now. Is that anyway to treat a future family member?”

 

            Derek snarled and bits of saliva flying from his mouth. His entire face felt swollen and on fire but he could still see Gerrard well enough through his watery vision. As long as he stayed in this spot and breathed swallow through his mouth his senses continued to slowly clear. Gerrard was twirling his wand, never breaking eye contact, and vines continued to sprout from the tip of it. Derek watched as they marched around him until they formed a neat circle. Gerrard made a complicated flick and they burst into tiny, whit blooms. Derek gagged again until he could get control of his nose.

 

            Wolfsbane, he realized as he squinted his weak eyes at the vines. He didn’t know this kind but as long as he got close to it, it was clear he couldn’t pass, not when the scent was this strong.

 

            His eye on Gerrard and Peter, he shifted back to human. His leg, now his arm, was healing slowly. He could feel Gerrard watching it heal with a fascination that made Derek disturbed. He pulled the sleeve of his shirt over the wound and crossed his arms stubbornly over his chest. Even with a human nose, the smell of the flowers was still strong but at least it didn’t feel like something had set fire to his sinuses.

 

            “Kill those two,” Gerrard stood, waving dirt from his robes. It took Derek a moment to realize he was talking about Boyd and Jackson. Their heartrates shot up.

 

            “That seems a little hasty,” Peter said. Derek stared at him; was his uncle actually having a shred of humanity? “The Auror is the Potion witch’s fiancé. He’s better bait than that Hogwarts professor or the kid.”

 

            “What about that one?” Gerrard gestured to Boyd.

 

            “Oh, that one we can kill.”

 

            Gerrard raised his wand. Boyd’s face was still calm but Derek could smell a fresh wave of terror from him.

 

            “Wait!” Derek spoke without thinking, taking a step forward before the smell drove him back again. Gerrard and Peter paused but Derek knew they would only be occupied as long as Derek could hold their attention. “If you kill him you’re going to have to deal with Braedon.”

 

            Peter grimaced at her name but Gerrard looked unimpressed. Derek pressed on. “If you kill Boyd she’ll hunt you down and sell your parts in Knockturn,” Derek repeated one of her more popular threats to the third years when they failed to hand in their homework. “If you keep him alive you can at least bargain with her.”

 

            Gerrard didn’t look like he was buying it but Peter had a look of unease. He knew that Braedon’s threats were rarely idle. “I’m not afraid of a witch, especially not with the full moon tomorrow,” Gerrard sounded smug.

 

            “That might scare her,” Derek said, sarcasm seeping through his nerves. “If she hadn’t spent most of her life learning how to stop out of control werewolves. She won’t even break a sweat.”

 

            “It’s true,” Boyd added. His heartbeat was calming slightly. “I’ve seen her take down an Alpha who got a bad batch of Wolfsbane once. Beta, on your first moon—you wouldn’t be able to maul a rabbit.”

 

            Gerrard glanced at Peter who nodded slightly. Frustration twisted his face and he lowered his wand. “Fine. But after I rip that witch’s throat out yours is next,” he narrowed his eyes at Boyd. “Put them with the other one,” he directed that to Peter then Disapparated without another word.

 

            Peter’s slimy smile dropped as soon as Gerrard was gone.

 

“Nice,” Peter practically spat the words at him as he rummaged through Jackson’s and Boyd’s robes for their wands. Jackson cursed and flopped but it didn’t bother Peter in the slightest. “Usually your scheming and bribery involves more bribes with cookies.”

 

Derek bristled. “As opposed to yours, which always has a knife in the back?”

 

“How do you manage the clothes?” Peter ignored him. “I ask merely because my future holds a great deal of indecency misdemeanors unless I figure that trick out.”

 

            “What did he offer you?” Derek asked. His voice was low but his hands were shaking in anger.

 

            “What I asked for,” Peter replied. Swiftly, he waved his wand and Jackson and Boyd floated off the ground at navel height.

 

            Derek couldn’t fathom anything that would be worth dealing with the people who had murdered their entire family. “You’re going to Azkaban for the Bite,” he managed to say. “There probably won’t even be a trial.” Jackson made a muffled affirming sound.  

 

            “They wanted it,” Peter said flippantly.

 

            “That doesn’t matter to the Ministry.”

 

            “I’ve got no interest in what that institution does or doesn’t care about,” Peter’s voice raised abruptly. “If they cared so much about us they wouldn’t have so many forced regulations on us. We wouldn’t be in secret; we wouldn’t have been forced to have that barrier up during the full moon.” Derek was used to seeing anger, arrogance and annoyance on Peter’s face, but he hadn’t seen this kind of fury in a long time. “If my stupid, wizard-living sister had cared more about the pack than toeing the line with that Ministry they might all still be alive right now.”

 

            Did Peter not know? Derek’s could feel his heart thumping in his throat. He had thought for sure that Peter had known what Kate at done to Laura, to their family. Peter had grieved, probably, though Derek couldn’t remember seeing anything beyond the first outrage when he had woken up in St. Murgo’s and had first been told. The man had been subdued for most of his time in the hospital wing but the Medi-wizards had told them it had been the shock.

 

            “Peter—“

 

            “You’re just like her,’ Peter cut him off. He flicked his wand and made Jackson and Boyd’s body line up obediently behind him. “You think as long as you play nice with the rules things will work out for everyone, eventually. Kate told me how you panted after her,” he sneered at Derek when he said her name and Derek flushed, shame filling him and making him feel fifteen again. “You thought if you loved her enough then things would work out. Life doesn’t work like that nephew and it’s pathetic you’ve made it this long without figuring that out.”

 

            “Kate’s dead,” Derek blurted out.

 

            “You mean that kid actually killed her?” Peter sounded impressed. “Scrappy. I should have slept with him when I had the chance. I bet he’s just as resourceful in bed.”

 

            “You don’t care?” Derek was taken back. He had to ignore the comment about Stiles though something in his stomach paced angrily. “She was Pack.”

 

            Peter snorted, turning to leave. “Idealism never looked good on our family crest.”

 

            “ _Fidelitam et familiam_ ,” Derek quoted. “Loyalty is different from idealism.”

 

            “Loyalty,” Peter rolled his eyes. “I cared more about our pack than anyone. You’ll see that soon enough.” He stood off before Derek could think of something else to say, Boyd and Jackson bobbing along in the air after him. Derek took another step forward but the smell from the white buds drove him back again.

 

            He wanted to rip at something— What the hell was wrong with the man? ‘Our pack’: as far as Derek was concerned his pack was Peter and Cora. It might grow if any of them risked marriage or a lone wolf wanted to join but that was the only way to expand. They couldn’t go around _Biting_ people, especially people like the Argents who looked down on them like dogs. Derek had only just started to hope that wizard-werewolf relations weren’t completely doomed but, of course, it would Peter who would ruin that too.

 

            There was a sound behind him. He was getting thoroughly sick of being snuck up on, Derek thought as he whirled around, teeth and claws out before he remembered how the smell from the flowers blinded his heightened senses. He had to curl on the ground, pinching his nose until the sneezing finally subsided. When he could look up, Kira was settled well back from the ring of flowers, her tailed wrapped over her feet with too much amusement in her eyes.

 

            “Why aren’t you are the castle?” Derek snapped, snuffling and wiping at his steaming eyes.

 

            Kira whined and ducked her head apologetically. Derek felt his frustration mounting. She didn’t have her leather pouch with her so she could transform back and he was already not in the mood to play charades in the Forbidden Forest with a fox. “Where’s Tate?” he asked, hoping that the answer was something simple.

 

            Kira whined again and glanced back the way she had come. She made a distressed noise, her face clearly worried which Derek took to mean her condition wasn’t any better.

 

            “Why the hell aren’t you with that car?” he forced his voice steady but he couldn’t keep all of his anger out of it. “It would have gotten you to the infirmary in less than ten minutes from here—“

 

            Kira cut him off with an angry yap. She made a noise that sounded suspiciously like she was swearing at him than ended in a warning grumble. Derek raised his eyebrows, surprised. “Something happened to the car.”

 

            Kira yelped affirmation. Derek raised a questioning eyebrow and she sighed. Stiffening her muscles, she crouched and started to move along the side of the shield spell, chattering and clucking in her breath in what Derek guessed was her best imitation of Stiles’s car. Nimbly, she leapt onto a rock and Derek nearly took a step back as her demeanor changed entirely. Her fur puffed out along her neck, the mane doubling her size. There was a wild roll in her eye, her teeth barred all the way to the molars as she growled, saliva falling in spits and sprays. She peered over the rock’s edge and rumbled low in her throat.

 

            In a whirl of orange fur, she was back on the ground and the picture of calm and tranquility as she puttering along her car-like path. Slowly, she cranked her head up to the now empty rock with a look of shock and surprise. As fast as a flash, she was back on the rock, snarling and wild as she leapt back down to where she had been as the car, her teeth and claws tearing at the ground in a frenzy of leaves and moss. Back and forth she twisted, one second a terrified car with child-like cries of distress, the next a possessed monster throwing dirt wildly in the air.

 

Theatrically, she threw herself to the side, the car, careening wildly into a leafy bush. Derek heard a small imitation of a wolf’s howl as she ran, fading like the car and the beast were disappearing into the depth of the Forest. Then she was back, limping on two paws as she pulled herself pitifully to the rock and flopped down, feigning exhaustion from every exaggerated pant. Slowly, she opened one eye at Derek.

 

If she wanted applause she could reenact for someone like Stiles. Derek crossed his arms over his chest and glared at her as he tried to piece it all together. She grumbled and relaxed into a sprawl on the ground.

 

            “Something attacked the car, and you and Tate jumped free,” Derek said finally.

 

            She yelped happily and hopped to her feet.

 

            The headache was coming on in full force. He sighed and rubbed his temples, not really needing to ask the next question but wanting confirmation. “Was it a giant, deformed werewolf?’

 

            She yelped again, whirling in a small, excited circle.

 

            “I’m going to feed him his own spleen,” Derek said calmly as he pictured just how lovely a scene that would make. He’d even cook it for Peter, get Boyd to whip up some kind of sauté as he forced his uncle to choke down every rubbery bite. He snapped out of the daydream when Kira made a concerned bark. Now wasn’t the time to fantasize how many ways he could murder his uncle, not if he wanted to live long enough to fulfill them.

 

            “I have to get out of here,” he sighed and looked up but if there was a roof to this spell he couldn’t see it.

 

            She chirped a question.

 

            “I don’t know,” Derek replied sourly. “My wand is in my jacket and my jacket is with—“ Derek groaned and rubbed at his eyes. “It’s with Stiles.”

 

            Kira made a disapproving sound.

 

            “I didn’t think I would need it,” he grumbled. She lowered her eyes at him and he glared back. “He was—cold,“ Derek felt his face flush as he wished he could take back the last few words. 

 

            Kira covered her snout with a paw but Derek could see the laugher in her eyes.  

 

            “Whatever,” he muttered. “You’re the one who trapped yourself as a fox.”

 

            She huffed, offended, and bounded off into the Forest.

 

            “Wait!” Derek balled his fists in frustration. He couldn’t move any closer to the ring of flowers without triggering another sneezing attack, even as a human. “Stupid foxes.” He was pretty sure she was just being facetious, running away in the middle of a Merlin’s cursed crisis, but he didn’t know her well enough to be sure.

 

            He wondered if the flowers would just bring on sneezing. He could tough it out as long as he made it through to the other side but he knew better than anyone that wolfsbanes, especially magically conjured strains like this, were unpredictable. The flowers might just feel like a bad bout of hay fever or they could send him into anaphylactic shock if he tried to get closer to them. Even from this distance he could feel his nose and throat tingling. Before he could work his nerve up to try, Kira came back and she wasn’t alone.

 

            Tate limped on three legs, half leaning on the smaller fox. She didn’t look better but at least she was conscious. Derek waiting impatiently as she slowly shifted back to human, finishing with a very small whimper. Her face was grey under the dirt and blood and she swayed even though she was sitting crumpled on the ground

 

            “What is that smell?” she wrinkled her nose.

 

            “Wolfsbane,” Derek said shortly. “You have to get rid of it.”

 

            She was shaking her head before he finished. “I’ve seen this kind of circle once. You can’t break it.”

 

            “It’s just a plant,” he had to remind himself that he shouldn’t shout at the only person for miles that could help him. “Wolfsbane is usually harmless to humans.”

 

            Malia raised a disbelieving brow at him. “One of my friends has been trapped for years in one.”

 

            “Then your friend must not have been _human_ then,” his patience snapped. “Just try!”

 

            “Fine! I’ll show you,” she snapped back and winced as she shuffled closer to the vine. It had implanted into the ground and she pulled at the roots with her uninjured arm. Blisters spotted up her hand to her wrist before she snatched it back, sending Derek the coldest glare he had ever received. “Real harmless.”

 

            Derek felt fur itching along his arms and hands as his temper rose. He didn’t know of a single spell that could do this. It must have been a spell that Gerrard had made himself, and Derek’s hatred of the man reached new heights.

 

            Kira whined and placed a gentle paw on Malia’s thigh. The woman looked at her blankly for a moment before she reached into her robes and pulled out her wand. “I never thought of that before,” she said and looked at her wand with a little doubt. She pointed it at the vine. “ _Diffindo_.”

 

            The spell sliced at the vine. The bud and leaves along it were neatly loped off but the circle remained strong. Malia frowned and pulled her hand back, starting the hand movements for a very distinctive spell.

 

            “Wait—“

 

            “ _Confringo!”_

 

            Derek threw himself into a shift, the thick pelt and muscles covering him right before the heat of the blast did. He hid his face in his forearms as the force blasting spell faded slowly. When he looked up the vine was definitely charred and broken, as was a large blackened circle of the path. He shifted back, his hands shaking, and patted his body to reassure himself that everything was still in place.

 

            “You could have killed me!”

 

            Tate shrugged and patted Kira’s head. “You’d be fine. Werewolves are a hard kill,” she said it with an unnerving tone of experience.

 

            Kira jerked her head towards him. Derek remembered too late that she had thought he was an Animagus but it was too late to worry about keeping secrets now. He was sure she would have figured it out from the wolfsbane anyway. He shouldn’t be surprised that Tate had figured it out right away; she was the Magical Creatures professor after all. He was just grateful she hadn’t told anyone until now. “You two need to get back to the castle. You’re too injured to help anyone”

 

            “I helped you,” Tate’s voice was raspy.

 

            “And you look just like the picture of health because of it,” Derek snapped. “At least get to Hogsmeade.”

 

            Kira barked, and Tate looked at Derek expectantly.

 

            “I’ll get the others,” he said, hoping his voice didn’t betray how nervous that statement made him. “Stiles and the other Aurors went to Hogwarts so there will be others coming to help soon.”

 

            Tate hesitated before offering him her wand, handle first. “If you lose that I’ll snap your spine,” she said without changing her face expression. Derek shivered. The wand was awkward in his hand but it didn’t feel like it would fight him as long as he didn’t ask too much. Tate shifted back to her coyote form. Kira licked her ear comfortingly before they headed down the game trail.

 

            Derek waited until they were out of sight before he turned the opposite way. Reinforcements would be here soon enough but he couldn’t stand by and wait. _Fidelitam et famliam_. He thought about Peter and muttered several bad words under his breath.


	21. Lions and Tigers and Bears

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I did a thing. I got over my Writer's Block. I'm sorry.

If Stiles never saw another plant in his life he would be happy with that. A wet branch slapped him as it released off the windshield and rocketed to where the car door should have been. He had never seen himself as a person who could rock leather but he was grateful for Derek’s thick, protective jacket nonetheless.

 

The sole headlight didn't show more than a foot or two into the forest and he couldn't tell if the lurching under the wheels was from uneven ground or the flat tire. Still, he could be walking or, God forbid, running through the bush again. He wasn't going to complain. And he swore he was going to get Roscoe the best repair and detail job he could afford when this was all over.

 

He didn't have to steer much, Roscoe seemed to have a destination in mind. He gripped the wheel anyway and tried to keep himself from looking at the compass still clipped on the dash and the arrow that was pointing steadfastly away from Hogwarts. He wasn't sure if holding the wheel was habit or if holding it gave him and tiny bit of control but his hands were starting to hurt again. He half wished Derek was here to take away the pain again but dashed that thought away. He didn't want to see those black veins ever again, even if Derek didn't complain about it.

 

He shuddered as the image of Derek, viscous black liquid oozing from his side, pain contorting his body like a puppet, rose to the top of his mind. Never mind plants, Stiles would give his firstborn to never seen another person in pain like that again, especially not Derek.

 

 _Especially_ not Derek. Stiles let the words mull in his mental voice until they felt comfortable. E- _special-_ ly not Derek. He was used to those 'especially' people but normally they came in the form of 'dad' or 'Scott' or sometimes ‘Allison’, 'Lydia' and 'Malia'. But this felt a bit different. While the other names brought a surge of protectiveness mixed with anger at the thought of something happening to them, 'Derek' brought just a hint of fear as well. But, it wasn't like Stiles expected. It wasn't fear because Derek was a werewolf, as he would have logically thought before. That kind of fear brought cold sweat and sharp nerve. This fear made him feel almost sick, not like he was worried for his life but like he was worried--

 

Like he was worried that Derek wouldn't want to be an 'especially'.

 

His foot jerked on the brake pedal and Roscoe honked reproachfully. “Sorry,” Stiles muttered and took his feet away from the pedals entirely. He let go of the steering wheel and let his hands fall in his lap.

 

Well. That was something.

 

That was definitely something he was going to have to think about.

 

There was a sharp jolt as Roscoe went over something hidden under the leaves and Stiles grabbed the wheel before he was bucked out the empty door.

 

“Jeez, Roscoe-” Stiles started but was cut out as an even bigger jolt threw him harder into the passenger side. This time the car had hit something and Roscoe let out an alarmed beep.

 

“Fuck,” Stiles grabbed onto the handle by the top of the door to keep himself steady as he peered around the door. They had definitely hit some _one_ as Stiles heard fumbling and cursing somewhere around the fender. “ _Lumos!”_ Stiles stuck Derek's wand into the darkness, a _stupefy_ already half casted in his mind.

 

“Stilinski?” there was no mistaking that pissed off tone.

 

“Professor Braedon?”

 

It was a good thing Roscoe had been moving slow through the forest because Braedon looked no more than a little banged up as she climbed from under the already twisted fender. “Merlin's tits, Stilinski, watch where you're going!”

 

“Sorry,” Stiles wasn't entirely sure he should have put his wand down. “But in my defence, what the hell! It's the middle of the night!”

 

The silver scars across her neck seemed to glow without the help of his _lumos_ charm. She glowered at him and he could have sworn her eyes flashed yellow. “I'm doing my job.”

 

“Oh, I didn't realise we had hired _speed bumps_ in the goddamn Forbidden Forest,” Stiles snapped. Fortunately she didn't seem to get the Muggle reference because she glanced the car over instead of eviscerating him.

 

“This is the car from your portrait.”

 

“And now you've put a dent in the hood. I'm glad you two are so intimately acquainted.”

 

“I think that dent was there long before I was,” Braedon strode up to his side of the car and grabbed his elbow in a vise-like grip. Before he could protest, she pulled him out of the jeep and had climbed into the driver's side. Roscoe honked in alarm and shifted its wheels agitated but Braedon gamely hung on.

 

“You can't take my car!” Stiles didn't bother to get to his feet- he threw himself into the car, his knee catching Braedon in the thigh before she shoved him back out again. “You don't even have a licence!”

 

Braedon snorted humorlessly at him. But, before she could say anything, Roscoe shoved the steering wheel back as far as it would go. She jumped, startled, but Roscoe wasn't finished. The driver's seat swung forward, pinning her between the wheel and the backrest with a sharp honk. She let out a pained squawk and squirmed but she was stuck like a pinned bug.

 

“Tell your car to let me go!”

 

Stiles couldn't stop a laugh from escaping his mouth. Under normal circumstances, this would be far from funny and he knew he would probably pay for it later. “I guess Roscoe doesn't like to be stolen. You should probably apologize.”

 

There was a long pause before Braedon said through gritted teeth, “Sorry.” Roscoe didn't budge.

 

“Maybe a bit louder.”

 

“I'm going to upholster these seats with your skin,” Braedon said. “And I'm going to use my dullest knives for it.” Roscoe flashed the interior lights warningly and Braedon rolled her eyes. “Fine, I'm sorry I tried to steal your fucking car.”

 

“You should probably say it to her,” Stiles gestured to the car and Roscoe flicked the wipers in agreement.

 

“I'm sorry I tried to steal you,” Braedon said the words like they were stabbing her in the throat. She spat the next words at Stiles though. “I just thought saving your boyfriend would count higher on your list of priorities than a little theft.”

 

Stiles didn't bother to point out that grand theft auto was a serious offence in the Muggle world. “Derek's in trouble? Move over!” He climbed into the driver's seat and Roscoe let go of its hold on Braedon. Braedon took a little more convincing but she clamoured over the gear shift into the passenger's side. “How do you know?”

 

Grudgingly, pulled back a sleeve and Stiles looked at an oversized wristwatch. There were several hands that were making alarming ticking sounds as they shifted back and forth in position. Stiles realized there were no numbers but words. Some were clear in their meaning, like 'SLEEPING', 'CALM', 'HUNGRY', 'THREAT' and so on, while others were more obscure. Where 1-2 would been, a coloured gauge read 'H – W'. The hand there flicked from one to the other as if it were trying to make up its mind.

 

“Is that about Derek?” Stiles asked. One of the hands was hovering over 'EXERCISE'. Another was trembling over ‘DANGER’.

 

She rolled her eyes at him. “Drive.”

 

Stiles obediently pressed on the gas pedal and Roscoe continued the steady journey through the bush.

 

“So,” Stiles glanced over at her though he concentrating on looking like he had to actually steer Roscoe. Braedon was nothing but adaptable and was relaxed again the passenger door. She was strikingly beautiful, Stiles couldn't stop the thought from creeping into his head. Even though he had just hit her with his car, there wasn't a scratch on her besides the strange silvery scars across her neck. Her eyes were glittering intensely whenever the moonlight flickered through the windshield and Stiles. “You’re Derek’s Watcher.”

 

Her lip curled up in amusement. “Sure. Yeah, I suppose that’s the MoM compliant word.”

 

“What word would you use?” Stiles asked.

 

“I like you, Stilinski. But you're smart enough to know that if I were a Watcher I'd be handling fifteen cases at once and probably live somewhere in an apartment with a Muggle cockroach infestation. Were-Whipped, isn't that what it one of the names for us?” Braedon rested her fingers on her wand holster strapped to her thigh. “Dog Trainers?”

 

“You are... considerably more badass than most Watchers I've seen,” Stilies said hastily.

 

“I was hired by Talia Hale,” Braedon said. She glanced at Stiles. “Postmortem. She knew my family and what we do and she left a stipulation on her will. If Peter ever became Alpha, we were to step in.”

 

“And watch.”

 

“Sure,” she quirked a grin again.

 

“What does your family do?”

 

“A little of this, a little of that,” Braedon said evasively. “My father always believed every job had a reasonable price tag.”

 

Stiles drummed his fingers on the wheel to steady them. “So you're a mercenary.”

 

“Now that's an archaic word,” Braedon clicked her tongue against her teeth disapprovingly but she continued to smile as though satisfied someone had finally figured it out.

 

“Boyd and Erica- they're part of this family too?” Stiles tried to wrap his mind around the thought. Braedon was terrifying but he remembered Boyd and Erica a little from school. Neither had stood out as particularly threatening.

 

“You'd be surprised what people on the outside can get pushed to. As long as they pay the cost of initiation, they're family.”

 

Stiles opened his mouth to ask just what the cost could be when Braedon snapped forward and covered his mouth. His foot jerked on the gas in panic and Roscoe revved the engine loudly in protest as it jerked to the side to avoid a tree and stopped. Stiles struggled, trying to fight back but Braedon held him down like he was nothing more than a small child. It took a moment for Stiles to realize she wasn't attacking him but was looking intently out the window at something else. He stilled and she slowly released her grip.

 

“What is it?” he whispered but she ignored him. She ignored him crawled over his lap to get out of the driver's side of the car, her thick boots stomping hard on this thigh. He cursed, quietly, because something that made Braedon spook was well scary enough to invoke a lot of adrenaline and fear in him.

 

She spared him a small glance and said, “Stay in the car.”

 

“No probl-” Stiles's eyes snapped wide as dark fur suddenly sprouted over her face. Her nose bugled out and her eyes turned golden as she seemed to double in size. Stiles had seen Malia transform enough to know an Animagus when he saw one but it was still shocking when, where Braedon once stood, a lioness, double her size, stood. Stiles felt a flash of primal fear shoot through him as Braedon bared her knife-sharp teeth at him. Then, she was in the underbrush and gone.

 

Stiles covered his face with his hands and struggled to pull in a breath. His hands were shaking so badly he nearly poked himself in the eye. Roscoe flipped its wipers in concern but Stiles had to take a few more breathes before he could pat the dash.

 

“Jesus fucking Christ,” he was proud his voice only trembled a little. “I'm moving to the Muggle world after this.”

 

+++

 

Gerald and Peter must have really believed that ring of Wolfsbane would have kept him contained. They hadn't bothered to hide their scent trail and he followed them easily. They had stopped before long and he had crept as close as he dared. His eyesight was weak but Derek could smell enough to get a picture of what was going on. He could smell Scott, Boyd and Jackson, the Auror, He could smell blood, pain and fear from Scott which put his hackles up and he had to struggle to keep from salivating. Peter was there, the smell of the Alpha strong and resentful. The most overpowering, though, was Gerald's scent, peppery, irritating, and pulsing with anger.

 

“Where is she?” Derek could hear a snarl in Gerald's voice as clear as if he was standing next to him.

 

“I told you we turned her too early,” Peter sounded bored. “Your daughter has control issues already and the full moon isn't known for helping werewolves with our self-restraint.”

 

There was a pause before Gerald spoke again, this time his voice tight, as if he was speaking through his teeth. “I'm not dragging three useless hostages all the way back to camp with just you to watch my back. Kill them and this time get rid of the bodies properly.”

 

Three heartbeats spiked. Derek found himself moving forward, teeth bared in a growl before he caught himself and settled back down. “The more numbers we have in the pack the better it will be.”

 

“We have numbers,” Gerald snapped.

 

“We _had_ numbers,” Peter drawled but his voice dragged, frustrated. “But you and your fucking daughter can't seem to keep your emotions of out the way.”

 

“Watch your tone.”

 

“You promised you'd make my pack strong,” Peter's voice snapped, patience gone.

 

“Oh, your pack,” Gerald mocked. “I'm sure you understand my confusion about your leadership skills. I didn't realize you _wanted_ your nephew to walk all over you like that. My mistake, Alpha.”

 

“An Alpha is only as strong as his pack,” Peter's heartbeat was racing as well, though his was anger. “I saw the way my sister had all of us eating out the palm of her hand. If you would stop killing our recruits, willing or otherwise, they would have to obey.”

 

“I have a list of people who want the Bite,” Gerald snapped. “When the time comes we'll use them. Until then, you follow my plan and listen to what I say, and I say, we don't need them. They're risks and I want them eliminated. _Now_.”

 

“Fine. But if we're doing it my way. Every time I leave it up to your daughter, some piece goes missing. Cast the spell.”

 

The smell of Wolfsbane stung Derek's nose but he couldn't wait any longer. He had to do something that didn't involve listening to Peter murder three innocent people. He darted forward ad prayed to Merlin's great beard that someone was on their way.

 

However, just as he broke into sight of the group, one of the three frantic heartbeats calmed. The small of blood and fear from the scent on the sweater Allison had given Derek seemed to shift. The wolf in him balked suddenly, as an immense ripple of power washed over him and his ears were deafened by an intense roar.

 

+++

 

Waiting was boring and Stiles had never been any good at it. He wished he had stocked Roscoe with something; crosswords, books, hell, a candy bar would have been nice. Because the door was missing it wasn't even very warm and Stiles found his legs getting restless after barely any time had passed. Braedon must have heard something for her to take off so quickly which meant at any moment something dangerous could happen. Stiles wasn't about to set a foot outside of his getaway vehicle, no way, no how. He gripped Derek's hand and it hummed.

 

The wind rustled and there was a rustling sound behind the car. Stiles stuck his head out of the window, firmly not leaving, and strained to see in the dark. Was something moving out there? He squinted and leaned further.

 

Roscoe flipped its wiper again, as if scolding Stiles but he just leaned a bit further. “Don't worry,” he said. “I'm just looking. I'm not going to--”

 

“ _Hello_?”

 

There was another rustling sound, this time sharper and definitely this time Stiles heard something move. He twisted around, one knee on the seat as he tried to see something, anything in the shadows. That had certainly been a voice, a young female one.

 

“Is someone out there?” he called, not too loudly. His ears strained as he decide if the voice had been his imagination.

 

“ _Can you hear me?”_ It was soft, barely there, and Stiles felt a sharp chill on the breeze, even colder than normal. That was a voice, he was definitely sure. It wasn't Kate's, that Stiles should be worried about her. Kate was dead and digested-- but there had been no other women at the camp. Malia and Kira had to be out of the woods. This voice sounded younger than them, high and thin. _“Please, if you can hear me--”_

 

The wind shifted directions and the words cut off. Stiles shivered, he felt like he had half-heard that voice before. Years ago, when he had spent a night cold and clinging to a tree after that dare gone wrong, he had thought he had heard a voice too. That had been an hallucination, something born from intense fear and the cold. But he could have sworn this was the same.”

 

One foot slipped out of the car and rested on the soft undergrowth. Roscoe shifted on its wheels in alarm. Stiles shushed it-- he wasn't going to go very far.

 

“- _\- anybody--”_

 

It sounded as if it could have been a student. The weight of his teacher's medallion suddenly hung heavy on its chain. He gripped Derek's wand, taking in the reassuring warmth from it, and took a few steps away from the car.

 

Each step felt heavy, his heart pounding, but as he took more and more they became easier. He glanced back a few times to make sure he could still see Roscoe's tail lights. The cold wind picked up again, swirling around. Silently, he cast a light to keep from stumbling. The wand in his hand started to tremble and tugged him a bit to the left. A lump in his throat made it hard to swallow but the warmth in the wand kept the fear at bay. He pushed aside a low hanging branch.

 

He had seen enough ghosts at Hogwarts to recognize the silver light. It was a girl, a teenager, sitting on the ground. She was wearing Hogwarts robes but she was bent over in a way that blocked the crest. She had her head buried her hands but Stiles couldn't tell if she was crying or not. Stiles shifted his weight, wondering how to get her attention, and snapped a twig beneath his feet.

 

The girl looked up. Her face was streaked with silver and for a moment he thought it was tears. Then he realized the silver was all over her hands and thick around her waist. It was blood, old and gruesome and he had to swallow past bile.

 

“Great Merlin,” the girl's voice was raspy as if it was unused. “Are you-- are you real?”

 

“Uh, yes,” Stiles couldn't take another step as he tried to take in the whole picture. “Who are you?”

 

“I-I'm Laura Hale,” the girl hadn't stood up. Stiles realized with another jolt that she wasn't sitting. Her body below her waist was missing. He concentrated on her face, trying to force aside his horror. She had the same nose as Derek, and strong eyebrows. Her face was softer than his, rounder and she wore thick rimmed glasses that were shattered on the left side. She looked no older than seventeen, which was the year she had died. The light on Derek's wand flickered. “I can't believe you're actually real.”

 

“You died- I mean people found your body--” Stiles's brain couldn't process how many years it had been since her murder.

 

“Did they?” her voice sounded bitter. “Well, not the whole thing.” She gestured to the ground under his feet and Stiles jumped away so quickly he lost the light on his wand and tripped over a large, thick vine. Laura floated over, her ghostly robes trailing on the ground as she hovered a few feet off the ground. She stopped short of the vine though as Stiles scrambled to his feet, recasting the light on the wand.

 

“That feels like--” her voice caught and her eyes were staring hungrily at the wand. “Is that from my mother?”

 

Stiles didn't know how to answer that question. “It's Derek's, uh, Derek Hale. Your brother,” he added and made a face at himself for the stupidity.

 

“Derek,” she repeated, her eyes still on the wand. She looked up at Stiles suddenly, her face worried. “Is he okay? I have to warn him about Kate.”

 

More than ten years. That was how long she had been out here. Ghosts sprang from violent, horrific deaths. They were people who were terrified, who had something seriously unfinished. Her eyes were growing more frantic as she scanned his face waiting for an answer.

 

“Derek's fine,” he said and reached out a reassuringly. His hand passed through her arm and he had the unpleasant sensation as if he had dipped it in a bucket of ice water. “And Kate's dead.”

 

“Oh,” the air seemed to be let out of her. She dipped, her torso settling on the ground again as if someone had attached weights to her. Stiles crouched, then sat so they were on the same level. She was staring blankly past his shoulder.

 

“Cora's okay too,” he said, thinking about how to grab her attention. “They're both at Hogwarts right now. Derek's a teacher.”

 

“Cora?” that seemed to draw her back. She looked at Stiles again. “Derek's a- teacher?” Her nose wrinkled. “How long have I been here.”

 

Stiles didn't know if it was better to tell her the truth or not. He settled for a neutral answer. “It's been a while. But you can come back now. See that they're okay for yourself.”

 

Laura was shaking her head before he finished. “Don't you think I've tried?” Her voice was bitter. “He trapped me here so I couldn't warn them.”

 

“Trap you?” Stiles had never heard of anyway to bar a ghost from going where they wanted to. He had had enough unwanted visitors during his baths to know that. But Laura was pointing bitterly at the gnarled vine around Stiles's feet. “Wolfsbane. They buried it around my body and as long as it's there, so am I.”

 

Wolfsbane again. Stiles would be grateful if he never had to deal with that plant again. He reached to tug at the vine but blisters sprung over his hand and he jerked away with a yelp.

 

“Are you okay?” Laura hovered again, her hands reaching out to him and freezing in midair before she could touch him. Her eyes welled up. “I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, this is all my fault. If I just- if I had been a better Alpha I could have stopped this, I could have stopped him.”

 

Stiles's hand was smarting and he moved as far away from the vine as he could. Laura took off her hands, wiping away at the tears, and something ached in his chest. “Hey, it's not your fault, okay? You were brutally murdered,” for a second Stiles wondered if it was proper etiquette to bring up something like that around a ghost but Laura didn't flinch at the word. “And you were just a kid.”

 

That got a reaction. Laura levelled her eyes at him. “I was seventeen. And I was the Prefect of Ravenclaw _and_ Head Girl, you know. I wasn't just a _kid_.”

 

It was probably ironic, but Stiles was glad to see some life in her eyes. “So then you're a hell of a lot more clever than I am. I am going to get you out of here though."

 

“How?” the bitter defeat crept back on her face.

 

“I learned one thing about Wolfsbane tonight that might come in handy,” Stiles took a few more steps back from the vine before he let out a blast of fire. There was a shrieking sound that seemed to echo in his ears and he had to covered them when it got overwhelming. Laura had ducked behind him, her hands over her ears as well, but when he dared to look at the vine all that was left was a neat patch of scorched earth.

 

Laura uncovered her ears and floated closer. With a trembling hand, she cautiously stretched it over where the vine had been. Tears were welling up in her eyes again.

 

“Come on,” Stiles jumped over the smoking ground as best he could. Laura hesitantly followed, she kept looking over her shoulder as if she couldn't believe what was happening. Stiles sent up a sparks until they hovered over the trees. Later, they could come back and get her bones and give her a proper burial. For now, he didn't want to anywhere near here if the people he suspected where in charge of killing her realized what was happening and came back.

 

“I can't believe it,” Laura was muttering under her breath as she trailed behind Stiles. “I can't- you have no idea- _Thank you!”_

 

She lunged forward, her arms closing around him. Ghosts were incorporeal, of course, but as far as Stiles knew they could feel when things were encroaching into their auras. He suspected that, even though parts of her arms were passing through into his, she could feel his tangible body and he couldn't exactly begrudge the girl the limited human contact she could have. It didn't stop it from feeling like something had issued an Ice Bucket challenge on him and he barely managed to keep from yelping at the sharp cold.

 

“Sorry!” she said ad released him but she didn't stop grinning. The silver blood over her face and soaking her robes still looked grotesque but her smile was brighter.

 

“It's fine,” Stiles's teeth here chattering a little but he forced that aside. “Let's hurry up, my car is this way.”

 

Roscue had every light on when he got back, even the interior ones. It rocked on its suspension when it saw him, disapproval etched in every part of its exterior.

 

“We've got to wait for someone before we can head back to the castle, so just hop in the back seat. Sorry, there's not a lot of leg room-” Stiles cut himself off, face flushing in horror when he realized what he had just said but Laura wasn't listening. He turned to get in the driver's side to escape the humiliation and jumped back a few feet at the giant lioness sprawling across the front seats.

 

“Oh my _God_ , I've had enough of this night!” he yelled at the lioness, his heart beating so fast it was painful. “Get out of my seat, Braedon!”

 

“Keep your voice down, Stilinski,” Braedon's voice was irritated and, terrifyingly, _behind him_. Stiles jumped, frantically pulling Bradeon towards him as he pointed his wand at the lioness in the front seat, a jinxes and hexes coming to his brain so fast they spilled out together in a brilliant mix of flashing lights, fireworks and ending with weak jet of water that splashed to the ground and soaked his shoes. Braedon slapped his hands away like they were bugs. “Erica, stop scaring him.”

 

The lioness opened her mouth in a toothy grin. Stiles felt hot anger but there was no time to digest the humiliation. “Oh, very funny. I'm glad you two are enjoying yourself while I just solved a _murder_.”

 

He pointed to Laura, still silvery and hovering near the rear of the car. She waved timidly as Braedon narrowed her eyes. “You found a ghost.”

 

“Yeah, I did,” Stiles crossed his arms over his chest. “How do you like them apples, huh?”

 

“Nice work,” Braedon said sarcastically. “You saved a dead girl. Get in, Erica found a lead.”

 

“I-” Stiles sputtered but followed Braedon to the car. Erica climbed into the backseat from the front. She took up most of it. She batted at the head rest on the driver's seat with dish plate-sized paws and ignored Stiles's protests as it snapped off. She rested her chin where it used to be, her nose pointed out the window. Laura drifted through the trunk and settled behind the driver's seat but she still had to settle partly on Erica's haunches. “Do you even know who this is?”

 

“Doesn't matter,” Braedon settled into the passenger side. “Dead clients don't get you paid.”

 

“Good thing I'm not looking for an extra paycheck then,” Stiles didn't know why he was still arguing. He gingerly got in the driver's side and tried to ignore the way he could feel Erica's warm breath on his ear every time she breathed. It smelled disturbingly like the beef stew he knew he had missed out on at the castle. The moon was shining bright now, one day away from being full, and Stiles could see it reflecting in Erica's massive, golden eye.

 

“Clearly,” Braedon said.

 

“You don't get it,” Stiles turned Roscoe's engine over bitterly. “This is _Laura Hale_.”

 

Suddenly, a roar unlike anything Stiles had hear before ripped through the Forest. Every hair on his body felt electrified. Laura shot forward in her seat, her eyes intense. She was shifting- even as a ghost- and her silvery claws dug into the upholstery. Braedon looked at her with new, wide eyes.

 

“Drive.”


	22. Chapter 22

Chapter 22

 

It felt like the moonlight was as oppressive as a blistering midday sun. It forced the wolf inside to cower low on its belly. The only other time he had felt it roll over like that was to his mother when he had been a child and had done something wrong. But it wasn’t just the moonlight that made him whimper low in this throat. He shifted back to human in an attempt to stop the stinging pain and tried to see through his watering eyes.

 

There was a wolf in the grove but it was bigger than any wolf he had ever seen. It had to be at least twice or three times Derek’s own transformation and even then he was sure he was being generous. Its fur was light grey, just like the nearly full moon filtering in through the trees and lighting the grove. Dark points on its back, ears and around its eyes highlighted bunched, bulging muscles and senses trained acutely onto two beings. It had Peter in his twisted half transformation pinned under its front paws but its red eyes were trained on Gerald and the wand the old man had pointed on it.

 

Boyd and Jackson were crumpled on the ground. The magical bonds that had contained them were gone and Derek was relieved when he saw them stir. He started towards them but the giant Alpha turned its head with a growl the second he moved.

 

He threw his hands up, baring his neck on instinct, and the monstrous wolf relaxed. It turned back to Gerald too slow, though, and another sharp smelling, flowering vine wrapped around a snout that was as big as Derek's waist. The wolf leapt back, scratching at the muzzle and Derek could smell the coppery blood as blisters swelled around the wolf's eyes.

 

Derek ran to Boyd and dropped to his knees. Both men were alert though. Boyd spared him a glanced, pulling him down to the ground in a crouch. Jackson never took his eyes off the Alpha.

 

“What the hell is happening to him?” it didn't sound like Jackson was asking either of them that question.

 

“My mother talked about it once,” Derek answered anyway. He found he couldn't look away either. The Alpha, Scott if his trusted his nose, had managed to scratch away the vines and was rubbing his eyes on a tree, growling in pain and anger. Gerald's hand was trembling as he tried to cast another but his wand did nothing more but shoot out a few green ropes. He looked grey and exhausted and Derek could see black rotting patches where his sleeves gaped at the wrists. “When a person takes a Bite they usually become a Beta to the pack that bit them. But sometimes, if the Bite is forced or the Alpha is...” he paused and looked to where Peter had staggered to his feet, blood dripping from his mouth as he a healthy distance away from Scott. “If the Alpha is corrupted, then the Beta can overcome.”

 

“Overcome?” Jackson was reaching for a wand he didn't have. Scott finally gave up on rubbing at the blisters on his face. He turned to Gerald with a snarl. The pus and blood made the fur around his eyes and on his snout dark and wet. The old man took several steps back.

 

Derek just shook his head. He only half remembered the stories about True Alphas his mother told him. He hadn't cared when he was younger. He knew that Alphas were usually born from death and he had no desire to become one. He never wanted to see someone get the Bite because it would have meant breaking the law. There was no point to learning about ancient lore, not when they were trying so hard to fit in. “But it's not even the full moon. Even if Peter gave him the Bite he shouldn't even have his first transformation until tomorrow.”

 

“Scott's always broken the rules if someone's in trouble,” Boyd said dryly. “He’s the reason we missed out on the Cup every year. He scrubbed floors for six months when he broke into the broom shed in sixth year to save Stilinski.”

 

Derek saw Peter creeping away. Scott's attention was on Gerald and Gerald's wand so he didn't notice when the other man started to creep to his blind side instead of slinking into the Forest. A protective anger welled up inside of Derek. He felt himself shift; not the full way but that halfway state Lydia couldn't explain. Boyd and Jackson scooted away from him but he wasn’t interested in them. Despite the fury and powerful darkness pushing at him, he felt completely in control.

 

“Stay here,” Derek told him. He saw Jackson bristle and he knew Boyd wasn't the kind of person to stand to the side during a fight. But they were wand-less and looking straight into the face of two unpredictable werewolves. “If Scott takes out Argent try to get your wands.”

 

Peter was getting closer to Scott's side. Derek didn't know what he was thinking but he wasn't going to stand by and let Peter’s plan unfold. He darted forward and caused enough noise for Scott to notice as he leapt at his uncle. Peter snarled furiously and swiped razor sharp claws across Derek's face. Blood dripped into his eyes but he blinked it away as he jumped back. Plan ruined, Peter turned his attention and anger on Derek. With a flurry of movement, he clouted Derek around the temple before Derek could duck and leapt on him in a tangle of claws, limbs and teeth.

 

Back claws dug into his thighs and front claws ripped into this scalp as Derek struggled to push Peter to the side and keep the dagger-like fangs from sinking into this throat. He and Peter had play wrestled on full moons before when he had been a kid. The older man had always overpowered him, being taller, heavier and more experienced than him, and pinned his arms behind his back until Derek had laughed and called mercy. There was no mercy from him now.

 

Something hit Peter from the side. The distraction was enough for Derek to sink his teeth into Peter's forearm until he heard bone snap. Warm, viscous blood pumped into his mouth and threatened to choke him until he managed to roll onto his side. Peter turned his full attention back to Derek but he couldn't free his arm from Derek's clamped teeth. Derek could feel his anger through the magical bond of an Alpha ebbing at the base of his skull but it was surprisingly less than he expected. Instead of being painful, he felt a swell of righteousness as if a dam had broken in him and was washing all the power Peter had over him away.

 

The hand that he was holding to Peter's throat dug into the sides of his neck. Peter gurgled against the pressure on his windpipe. Hatred mixed with fear was glowing in his deep red eyes. Derek closed his fist, claws digging into tendon and muscle as Peter's eyes bulged and his breath came short. For a microsecond memories flashed in front of Derek: Peter laughing with him, arguing with his mother, helping him with his primary homework then again feeding him the facts for those boring summer history essays. That face had watched him grow up, had eaten every Christmas dinner with him, and looked so much like his mother's face that it had hurt every time he looked at his uncle after the fire. He had been angry at that face and had wanted to punch it more than once; but, at the same time, these were the arms that had held him during his first painful transformation. This was the man who grieved with them in the hospital wing after the fire.

 

His grip wavered and he saw the look of triumph in Peter's eyes.

 

“ _Derek!”_

 

_Laura._

 

Using all his strength,Derek pulled his hand forward. His claws scraped again bone, he heard flesh and muscle rip, felt blood gush over his hand, sticky, wet and warm all the way down to his elbow and splatter into his eyes. Peter gurgled again, the last bit of air that could get through his neck a death whimper as the red in his eyes faded, betrayal and terror fading with it as Derek felt the life leave him.

 

Hands were pulling Peter's body off of him. His claws were tangled in the crushed gore where Peter’s throat had been and he couldn't get them free. Boyd was there, a wound on his head bleeding, as he pried Derek's claws open.

 

Someone, Jackson, had wrapped arms around his torso and was pulling him back. His jaw was slack and Peter’s broken arm flopped as it fell from his fangs and hit the ground. People were yelling but the sound was muffled like someone had put beeswax in his ears.

 

“-get back!” Jackson's mouth was right in his ear. For a minute he thought Jackson was shouting at him but then his vision started to clear as well. Scott was circling something, his hackles high and a disgruntled growled echoing in the grove. “If he Bites you Stilinski, you deserve it! I'll testify that in front of the whole Wizengamot!”

 

Derek couldn't smell anything past Peter’s blood and the sour stink of death. He looked to where Jackson was yelling. Scott was circling a trembling figure standing in the grove with his hands raised.

 

“I'm trying to get back,” Stiles snapped. “Do you think I really want to be eaten-- hey, buddy,” his voice gentled when Scott advanced on him. “Hey, Scott, it's me, remember? Your friend? Not food.”

 

“He's just confused, I think,” a young voice sounded. It was hollow, like an echo, and Derek managed to look to the edge of the grove where Stiles's blue jeep was tangled in the bush. Braedon was there, as was Erica, but they were wisely sticking to the scant cover provided by the trees. In front of them was the ghost of a teenage girl.

 

“Is that-” Derek's voice felt thick. He coughed and pulled free from Jackson so he could hack and spit the blood out. Jackson let him go. Gerald was bound in magic ropes nearby with a head wound like Boyd's that was bleeding sluggishly. Jackson had his wand in a white-knuckled grip.

 

The ghost, Laura, looked from where Scott had tilted his head and was still sizing Stiles up and locked eyes with Derek.

 

She looked so _young._ He knew she had been seventeen when she had died, the same age as the oldest students he taught, but for some reason he hadn’t expected her to stay that way.

 

Stiles was stepping back slowly but each time he moved Scott followed his movements. “Stay _still_ , Stilinski,” Boyd said in an even voice.

 

“He's going to eat me,” Stiles said steadily. The look on Boyd's face didn't disagree with him. But before anyone could say anything else, there was a whistle in the air and a woman on a broomstick landed neatly between the face off.

 

“Don't worry, he'll feel really bad about it.” Derek had nearly forgotten about the young woman, Allison, who had given them the sweater in the woods. Her face was pinched white but she was smiling softly and her hands were steady as she reached them out towards the monstrous, blood stained fangs.

 

Then, it was as though she had cast a spell. Scott's ears perked forward and his tongue wagged out. Without hesitation he moved towards her, his tail wagging but she stopped him before he could lick at her face. “Scott,” she cupped her hands next to his face and just like that, the powerful magic holding the transformation fell away. Human again, Scott stumbled, exhausted, into her arms. Derek looked away when he realized how naked the man was.

 

Derek turned back to Laura. She was hovering a few feet from the ground and Derek realized why with a sickening jolt. He struggled to his feet but the gouged wounds Peter had given him made his legs spasm and give out. Jackson and Boyd caught him before he could hit the ground. Laura drifted forward, shoulder to shoulder with Stiles. Pain and exhausted rippled through him as he felt two hands, one warm and one ice cold touch his wrists. Then, the world seemed to fuzz out again.

 

+++

 

The next time he opened his eyes, it was to the white cotton draped over the hospital bed. He had woken to it many times when he had been a student after a painful full moon.

 

The room was dark, but that didn't mean much. The windows were spelled for rest and relaxation. There was a weight on the bed by his hip pulling on the blanket. He turned his neck, weak as wet noodles. Stiles was sleeping in a very uncomfortable looking chair. His head was pillowed in his arms on the bed and his body was perched so perilously on the edge of the chair any slight movement would probably send him to the ground. Derek held very still as he looked over his body. His knuckles were scratched and swollen but scabbed over with whatever kind of healing spells and potions that had been pumped into him. He must have had his other injuries healed as well if he was able to sleep in that kind of position.

 

A cough on his other side made him turn his neck very carefully that way. Malia was curled up, human form, on the next bed. She looked pale and her eyes were bruised but they open. There was an open book on the bed next to her head and her hand held it open. Derek could see it wasn’t written in a Roman alphabet but he could smell plants, animals and magic that were unlike anything in the local area. Now, though, she was studying him with an unreadable intensity.

 

“He likes you, you know,” Malia's husky voice was rougher than usual but just as monotone and seemingly unfeeling. “But that doesn’t mean you can just take him.”

 

“I won't,” Derek said hastily.

 

“I’ll be watching,” she said seriously and held his gaze for a few uncomfortable moments as if proving she could. Derek saw a fox, Kira, shift sleepily at the end of her bed. Finally, she turned back to her book.

 

He couldn't see anyone else the empty hospital wing. Carefully, he shifted his body, every inch of it protesting, until his feet touched the cold floor. Stiles smacked his lips and shifted but, miraculously, didn't fall. Malia seemed to have dismissed him entirely. His Muggle clothes were clean and not torn, a fact that astounded him before he remembered they were from Deaton's magical chest, and folded at the edge of the bed. He changed behind a curtain before stepping quietly into the hall. His wand had been with his clothes and he touched it, letting the familiar comfort seep into his hand.

 

Outside of the hospital wing, he saw it was early evening. That meant he had been unconscious for at least a day. Most of the students were probably at supper, which was good considering Derek was certain his face was still swollen and bruised. Something small bumped his feet and he looked down, startled. A dusty coloured cat looked up reproachfully. “Malia's inside,” Derek said, feeling foolish but knowing full well the cat understood him. It had understood him well enough when he asked it to take the key to Stiles's cell.

 

The cat meowed and trotted off down a hall. It glanced back when Derek didn't follow and huffed. Derek hesitantly followed. It led him through some dark hallways and through some shortcuts he hadn't known about. It was strange to think he had spent nearly a decade living in this castle and still didn't know all the places. Abruptly, Derek looked and saw they were in the hall by the Headmaster's office. The cat disappeared behind a tapestry without so much as a good bye.

 

If Deaton wanted to speak with him so badly he was willing to ask a favour from a cat then who was Derek to say no? He said the password and the staircase opened.

 

The office was empty and dark. Derek's shoulders dropped, disappointed. He realized that he had been expecting Laura to be here. He had seen Laura right? Had it been a hallucination? The candles around the room flared to life and Derek turned to the footsteps on the stairs. It was only Deaton though, a sad smile on his face.

 

“Is she-” Derek started but let his voice trail at the small shake of Deaton's head.

 

“She's already departed,” Deaton said. “She said what she needed to the Aurors.” After a pause, he added gently, “It was time for her to move on.”

 

Surprisingly, anger flared in Derek's chest. “She didn't want to speak with me.”

 

“She did,” Deaton moved a large cupboard along one side of the room. “But she was already weak. Peter and Mr. Argent had planted Wolfsbane around her torso to keep you from scenting her on a full moon. You know the Hunter lore as well as I do,” Deaton voice was calm but Derek could see anger tense around his eyes. “They didn't realize it would trap her ghost too.”

 

“She was trapped in the Forest,” Derek felt his chest getting tight. “Alone, for fourteen years.”

 

“Not totally alone.” Deaton was pulling a glass bottle from a drawer. Derek saw dozens of identical bottles and in the centre a shallow Pensive.

 

To his humiliation, his breathing was getting shallower and his eyes burned. Deaton's words didn't comfort him. Alone, while Derek spent his last year at Hogwarts not looking for her body like he should have. Years, while Derek lived off the family fortune, tolerated Peter, and gallivanted off on whatever Dark Creature internship that would take him. And the last couple of years, right outside his window. His brain ran the numbers over and over again, how many nights he could have spent looking for her.

 

Deaton took one of his clawed hand and placed the glass bottle in it. Carefully, he closed Derek's hairy fingers around it so it wouldn't fall. “She spoke with Cora, but she left these memories for you. They're fragmented. There wasn't much time before her ghost had to leave but she wanted to make sure you understood.”

 

Derek nodded, feeling numb as he looked at the memories drifting below the cool glass. Deaton patted him on the shoulder and left with a quiet sweep of his robes.

 

It felt too small. Laura should never be able to fit in the palm of someone’s hand. For a second he wanted to drop the bottle and smash it under his foot. He was afraid, he realised with a stabbing pain in his abdomen. The memories he had of her were stagnate in guilt and unmeasurable pain, but they were comfortable. The grief there was locked inside him like a wound he had learned to not disturb and, to his shame, he found himself wanting to turn tail and run from the thought of confronting it again.

 

No one would know. He could pocket the bottle and then hide it somewhere Untraceable. The only person who should know what these memories were had been Laura and she was gone, finally put at peace. But, as much as part of him was screaming to just look the other way, another part was aching to see what Laura wanted to share with him.

 

Derek’s hands were human as he opened the bottle. Carefully, he let the memories pour into the bowl and set the bottle aside. Then, he braced his hands on the side of the bowl, took a deep breath, and plunged his head into the bowl before he could talk himself out of it again.


End file.
